


Harry Potter and the Magic of Wand Making

by Lazarth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Best Friends, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Canon Rewrite, Gen, Hogwarts First Year, Hufflepuff Neville Longbottom, Magical World, Making Friends, My First Work in This Fandom, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Harry Potter, Plants, Ravenclaw Harry Potter, Ravenclaw Hermione Granger, Talking to animals, Wandlore (Harry Potter), talking to plants
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-01-06 22:19:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18397475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lazarth/pseuds/Lazarth
Summary: In a normal town called Surrey, on a normal street called Privet Dr., was a normal house numbered 4. In the normal house lived a normal family, the Dursleys. There was father, mother and son. Yet, every normal family has a not so normal family member. Dursleys had another family member who wasn’t so normal. In fact, this family member was most extraordinary indeed.- Updates every week -





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've finally decided to post this after working on it for a while! I have quite a bit of it done so you guys will be getting regular updates every Friday! 
> 
> If you guys notice any grammar mistakes please let me know!
> 
> Edit: All chapters SHOULD be error free. Please let me know if there are any!

In a normal town called Surrey, on a normal street called Privet Dr., was a normal house numbered 4. In the normal house lived a normal family, the Dursleys. There was father, mother and son. The father’s name was Mr. Vernon Dursley who was the director for Grunnings Drill Company and spent his time with his lovely family. He was normal. The mother was name Mrs. Petunia Dursley who was a homemaker and spent her time doting on her loving husband and son. She was normal. The son’s name was Dudley Dursley who was a model son and spent his time playing with his friends and watching tv. He was normal. Yet, every normal family has a not so normal family member. Like spinster aunts that spent their time drinking and bred dogs for a living. The Dursleys had one of those too. But the Dursleys had another family member who wasn’t so normal. In fact, this family member was most extraordinary indeed. He was named Harry Potter and he was a wizard.

Harry Potter was the son of Mrs. Dursley’s sister. His hair was black where the Dursleys’ hair was blond. He was skinny, much like the gaunt and horse-faced form of Mrs. Dursley, where the two male Dursley’s were heavy-set, one could say they were whale-like. He was timid and quiet and shy. Harry knew things most ten-year-olds didn’t. Harry knew how to cook and clean and weed the garden. He was Mrs. Dursley’s secret to her perfect garden which got her the Perfect Garden of the Year, four years in a row. However, Harry also didn’t have things that most ten-year-olds did. He did not have a room to call his own or even share one with his cousin, his cousin, on the other hand, had two bedrooms. Instead, Harry slept in the tiny cupboard under the stairs. Harry did not have clothes that fit him, not even second hand ones, and was often garbed in loose castoffs of his cousin that his aunt dyed grey. Harry had no friends. His cousin found ways to drive away all that would even dare to be kind to the small, scrawny boy at their school. Harry often found himself alone in the park in the neighborhood when Mrs. Dursley did not wasn’t willing to hire a baby sitter when she and the rest of his family went to enjoy a daytrip. Due to the actions of his cousin, Harry found himself avoided by all the children playing in the park. Yet, Harry did not have a need for human friends for he found himself to be in great company. He had a friend in all the plants and animals around him. For Harry was extraordinary, even for a wizard.

Harry sat in the park on Privet Dr., under a gnarled, old oak tree, drawing nonsensically with the pen and paper he swiped from his cupboard. The tree’s branches pointed up in odd directions like the hair of an elderly bloodhound and the tree sat much like a retired old bloodhound too, all dropping and lazy. Harry was listening. One couldn’t really tell if the saw the strange, black haired boy that sat under the oak tree. But, Harry was listening to the tree speak. The oak tree was old and grumpy and spoke with a gruff voice when the leaves ruffled. A nearby apple tree was quiet and strong and often lent down to let the young boy pluck a few fruits when the season was in. Just a bit farther away and closer to the edge of the park was a mischievous dogwood, planted by a visiting relative from the America’s. The dogwood had a tinkling laugh and whose flowers would mysteriously find themselves tangled in Harry’s hair every spring and who would tell the boy silly jokes to cheer him up. The rest of the inhabitants of the park were also chatty and had many stories for Harry. Like the winding ivy that told him how to best till the soil or the looming form of a wisteria vine, that dangled from the gazebo in the far-left end of the park, that taught him to always show love and endure anything the world had to throw at him. For the most beautiful flowers grew in the soil of strife. It was the wisteria that told him that he was a wizard for it remembered others who had abilities that they did not understand and they too had been wizards. Harry listened and learned and grew. He was a most extraordinary young boy, indeed.

The animals told him of many things. The snakes were the chattiest, for they understood him the best and could hold full length conversations with. Other animals of the park also spoke with him on occasion but most of the time their speech was more understanding an impression than complete and coherent thoughts. Harry knew they cared for him and thought of him as one of their own. A raven had even brought him a sandwich once when Harry had been left at the park by his aunt and had nothing to eat.

_‘Too skinny… must eat more… tiny chicks cannot fly… must eat more.’_

However, when he found out that the raven had snagged the sandwich from someone who was trying to eat his own lunch, Harry had felt very bad. He had asked the raven to not steal any food for him after that. The raven still managed to bring him biscuits and chips and even the occasional soda and simply shrugged when asked how he had procured the items. Harry tried not to feel too guilty about it all.

Harry was almost eleven. He was told that it was a very important date for a young wizard. The ivy who had learned long ago from a distant relative who lived in the garden of a family that had a wizard child all the things a new wizard needed to know for their first few days. Harry had to be on the lookout for a letter and give a prompt reply.

 

* * *

Tuesday dawned and promised to be a bright and cheery day. For most ten-year-olds. Harry lay in his cupboard, listening the small spider have an argument with a passing daddy-long-legs over who could and could not stay in the confined space.

_‘Plenty of space here, darling, you must remember to share with everyone around you. There are already other occupiers here. Surely your issue is not just with me.’_

The daddy-long-legs was winning.

 The abrupt clack of the of bolt in his door being unlocked startled the young boy into a sitting position. His aunt’s face peered in through the small slatted window.

“Up! Get up!” Her shrill voice cut through the slight haze of sleepiness that still clouded his head. “Quickly!”

Harry grumbled under his breath as he pulled on his shoes, after evicting a spider that was put off by the action, and trudged his way down the hallways to the kitchen. The entire room was dwarfed by a pile of gaudily wrapped boxes set up in one end of the room. A small groan left Harry’s lips. It was Dudley’s birthday.  

“Look after the bacon. And bring Vernon his coffee.” Orders flew out of his aunt’s mouth as Harry nodded diligently.

“Yes, aunt Petunia.”

Smells of meat and pancakes permeated the air as Harry got to work adding eggs to the alarmingly large amount of breakfast food for only four people. Truthfully, it would only be two people consuming the caloric monstrosity. Aunt Petunia would only eat small parfaits or other fruit based breakfast foods while Harry only had an egg and two rashers of bacon. Uncle Vernon was already on his second helping of pancakes and his third helping of bacon.

“Bring me my coffee boy!”

“Yes, uncle Vernon,” quickly pouring the steaming liquid, Harry handed it to his uncle before added the last of the bacon to Dudley’s plate and setting his own food on the table. It was only when Harry had sat down that Dudley finally came downstairs, the loud creaking and thumping on the stairs heralding the large boy’s arrival.

“Happy birthday, my sweet darling angle,” Aunt Petunia cooed as Dudley began to inhale his food. 

To Harry Dudley had always looked more like a pig in a wig than an angel but, he supposed, ‘a face only a mother could love’ must have been based of fact. His cousin was living proof.

“How many are there?!” Dudley bellowed through a heavy helping of pancakes as he pointed at the precarious pile dwarfing the dining table. Harry winced as the boy sprayed food from his mouth and stared down at his own plate feeling his appetite drain away.

“There are thirty-six and your aunt Marge sent one too.” Uncle Vernon said happily as he looked at his son with pride filled eyes.

“That’s…” Dudley was starting to resemble a constipated pink elephant with every passing moment. “That’s thirty… thirty-seven?” He looked up at his mother for approval who was beaming with pride.

“That’s right sweet pea, there’s thirty-seven present just for you,” her voice was obnoxiously sweet as she patted Dudley’s cheek.

“But that’s less than last year!” Dudley’s large fist made the table shake like a leaf. Harry began to inhale his own food. It would be remiss to not have breakfast because the table broke form a Dudley-Dursley-Tantrum™.

“Oh, we’ll get two more when we go to the zoo today. Okay, pumpkin? How’s that?” aunt Petunia was quick to quell the brewing storm.

“Then I’ll have thirty… thirty…”

“Thirty-nine, dear.” Aunt Petunia continued stroking Dudley’s hair. Her cooing was interrupted by the shrill ring of the telephone.

Aunt Petunia tutted into mouth piece in the same tone she used to speak to all her gossip group. Her head bobbed and she hummed and hawed at the proper points in the conversation. She then thanked the caller and hung-up the phone.

“Bad news, Vernon, Mrs. Figg can’t take care of the boy. She broke her leg and had to go to hospital.” Vernon scowled at his nephew with a frown so deep that Harry was afraid his face would get stuck in the hideous expression.

“He’s ruining my birthday, Mommy!” The tantrum returned full force with added wailing and sobbing.

Harry tried very hard to not roll his eyes and kept his mouth shut for the moment. He also scooted as far away from the table lest it gave out under the chubbier boy’s hits.

“Why not just leave him in the park? He stays there often enough as it is.” Uncle Vernon sniffed turning back to the newspaper and that was that. Harry would rather spend the day amongst his friends instead of in a cabbage smelling living room listening to a horde of bickering cats.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be knocked out this Friday so you guys are getting this chapter a day early!
> 
> As always let me know if there are any glaring errors and I will fix them.
> 
> Edit: All chapters SHOULD be error free. Please let me know if there are any!

Harry sat in his usual spot, once more, under the gnarled oak tree and recounted the morning to his captive audience while nibbling on some biscuits that the raven swore she did not nick from the couple enjoying their picnic on the other side of the play area. He ate another biscuit before stuffing the remaining in his torn-up backpack, that aunt Petunia had gotten for him from the same secondhand store she found his glasses in. The dogwood was calling Dudley names that the oak expressly forbade Harry from repeating when something strange happened.

Strange things always happened to Harry. Like escaping the roof of the school while being chased by an over-weight cousin or having hair grow when he didn’t want it cut or shrinking sweaters or even talking to animals and plants. He was a magnet for strange things but the wisteria always assured him that it was normal for a growing wizard. Harry wasn’t sure if he believed that.

The strange occurrence this time was the arrival of a tawny owl. In the middle of the afternoon. Holding a letter of all the things in the world. A mail delivery owl of Hogwarts, if the owl was to be believed. It was his acceptance letter, the wisteria assured. He should open it and read it for them, the dogwood insisted. He must be cautious in accepting letters from sources he did not know, the gnarled oak grumbled.

The envelope read:

 

_Mr. H. Potter,_

_The Cupboard Beneath the Stair,_

_4, Privet Drive,_

_Little Whining,_

_Surrey_

 

They knew where he slept?

Harry opened the letter.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

 _(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,_  
_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)_

 

 

_**Dear Mr. Potter,** _

_**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.** _

_**Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.** _

_**Yours sincerely,** _

_**Minerva McGonagall** _

_**Deputy Headmistress** _

 

He couldn’t believe it. He tried to trust the wisteria, he really did. But on days that his aunt and uncle’s words were particularly harsh, he found himself full of doubts. Yet, here he was, he had his letter. 

_‘Would like for me to deliver a reply?’_

It was a very well-spoken owl.

Harry remembered he had an audience that included the owl who must be anxious to return. He wiped away the tears that were starting to build in his eyes and rummaged around in his knapsack. The retrieval of a cap less ballpoint pen and some plain paper he had swiped from the Dursley’s printer later, Harry started to write his replay in the best manner he could manage.

 

Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,

I am happy to learn that I have been accepted to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am currently living with my aunt and uncle who are not magical. I do not know where to get the supplies you have requested. If you could send me directions to where I could buy them I would be grateful.

Best regards,

Harry Potter.

 

It was a bit silly but he did not have an envelope so instead he folded the paper and used the twine attached to the acceptance letter to ensure the folded paper staid closed. He attached the letter to the owl and watched it fly away.

Harry was a wizard.

Harry could not wait to go Hogwarts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... I had a great surgery but I'm stuck at home so decided to work more on the fanfic. Since I've gotten father than I expected this week, I'm gonna post another chapter this week. WOOO!
> 
> ENJOY!

Professor Filius Flitwick was having quite a hectic week of reading student replies to their acceptance letters and sorting through them to select which students were muggleborn. He had barely returned from the end of the year dueling tournaments when he was informed that he will be playing guide to the muggleborn students this year. It had been quite a shock for the diminutive professor. It was normally Professor McGonagall or even Professor Snape, heaven forbid, that were responsible for the task. While the two other professors would normally let an enchanted quill take care of the name writing and address writing, Filius enjoyed writing the addresses from the Book of Names himself. While the letters were already pre-written and signed, Filius found that he could meet the students better if he knew their addresses by heart.

Yet, here he was trudging through yet another muggle neighborhood on his way to meet another future student.

This student, however, was special. Very special. And Flitwick was the only one that knew he was here. The professor was a near shoe-in for Slytherin but his thirst for knowledge had won out which was why he had been placed in Ravenclaw. He knew when to speak and when to hold his information close to his chest. It had allowed him to become a great dueler in the past for years and now it allowed him to visit this student without even the headmaster finding out.

Filius was one of the few people in magical community that didn’t dress like he had gone to the bargain bin of a store and rolled around in it until he emerged fully dressed. In fact, the tiny man was dressed in a smart suit that only half clashed with his mustache.

The street he was on was normal. The houses were cookies cutter copies of one another. Matching everything down to a T. A short, dwarfish man in a business suit walking down the sidewalk was an unusual sight for the neighborhood, that much was evident from the stares and whispers that followed him. He arrived at the house that was his destination in a hurried fashion and rang the doorbell.

Being from magical Britain and a skilled duelist, Filius Flitwick thought he had seen some unusual things, or so he thought. As the man who had answered the door was an example of mankind that Filius had yet to come across. The man was large, obesely so, and was turning an alarmingly deep purple color as he glared down at the professor.

“We aren’t buying what your freak show is selling,” the figure bellowed before making to slam the door in his face.

One of the other things that made him a prime candidate for Slytherin, and an accomplished dueling master, was his vicious streak due in part to his goblin heritage. As any opponent that had faced the short professor would could attest to, making him angry was the worst idea for anyone’s health.

The door did not make contact with the frame but instead a leather shoe. Filius used his opponent’s moment of confusion to burst his way through the door and into the house proper.

“Now, now, you should invite your guests in at the very least, Mr. Dursley. Before you start with the name calling,” the professor adjusted his coat as he watched the man get back to his feet. “Now then, where was I?”

By now the two had moved into the entryway of the house. Their ruckus had brought the other three inhabitants to the doorway of the kitchen to investigate.

“I am Professor Filius Flitwick, Charms Master of Hogwarts and Head of House Ravenclaw. I am here on behalf of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as a representative requested by one Mr. Potter to assist him in acclimating and traversing the magical area of Britain so that he may require necessary items for his magical education.” The speech was curt and to the point and very well-rehearsed if Filius said so himself.

“So, I will be learning magic?” All eyes turned to the small boy standing next to a miniature carbon copy of the puce man in front of the professor.

“Why yes, Mr. Potter, did you ever have any doubt?” The professor asked merrily, his previous ire vanishing in the light of hope shining at him from the familiar verdant eyes. “You are the son of two very strong and brave people, Harry. Their magic runs strong in you.”

“They were magic too?” Harry’s head snapped to his aunt. “You said they were jobless drunkards who got themselves blown up in a car crash!”

“They were freak that’s what they were! My pretty sister with her perfect husband! Unnatural and freaks!” Aunt Petunia had shaken off her surprise and started in on the unwanted visitor in her shrill voice. “I will not hear it! You will get out of my house this instant. I will not have some crackpot old fool teaching him freakish things that they taught my freak of a sister!”

“Hush now dear,” the tiny man pulled out a carved piece of wood and made a swishing motion. Aunt Petunia found herself unable to continue berating him.

“That is what my official capacity is. However, there is another business that I feel personally responsible for and must take care of.” The professor turned to uncle Vernon who was starting to sway on his feet.

The diminutive professor patted his coat for a few moments.

“Ahh, here they are.” Pulling out a pair of glasses and an envelope, an exact copy of the envelope that was sent to one Mr. H. Potter, “Imagine my surprise, Mr. Dursley, when I learned that a future student was living in a cupboard of all places.”

“Imagine my further surprise when I learnt that the house has two completely free rooms.” If one asked what a high-pitched voice growling sounded, Professor Flitwick would serve as the perfect example. “I have great friends who work in the financial world and were happy to supply me with all the information I needed. Now, you want me out of your hair. That is understandable. I was hoping to speak with amicably…”

He turned his wand back to uncle Vernon. “You and your ‘lovely’ wife will place your nephew in the guest bedroom. He will stay there when he is not at school. You will keep to yourself and I will not pay you a visit. If you do not, I will make you bleed in places you did not know you had.”

The grin that spread over Filius’ feature would have made his grandmother’s goblin clan proud.

“Yes, yes.” Filius nodded. “Well, that’s that.” He placed his wand back into the holster. “Come now, Mr. Potter. Let’s take you to acquire your supplies, shall we? You have your list that was provided with your letter?”

The dark-haired boy nodded eagerly. 

“Then gather it please. We must be going quickly.”

Harry scrambled to get to the cupboard tucked under the stairs and collect the knapsack that he traveled everywhere with. In it is letter lay safe and hidden from prying eyes. Taking the ratty backpack with him, he walked to the professor and waited patiently.

“Ready, are we? Well then, please wait outside for me,” Filius waited until the door closed behind him before turning to the Dursley patriarch.

“Remember Mr. Dursley. Bleeding.” His warning cemented, Filius turned and walked out of the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING!!~


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the whole update only on Friday thing? Not working, I'll be updating as I write new sections. Updates shall be sporadic but weekly!

Harry could not help but stare. Everything was so… so… so fantastical. So magical. There were brooms and pointed witch hats and strange clothes all over the place. They had arrived at a pub of all things, the Leaky Cauldron, by a hair-raising ride on a death trap called the Knight Bus. The professor had showed him how to enter the alley behind the pub, Diagon Alley, through a series of taps on bricks. Harry thought he would never get use to the sights all around him.

There were owls flying here and there and Harry could hear them greeting on another when they flew close enough. A bat hung from a charred looking sign muttering obscenity about the sun. Two newts sat atop a window sill and discussed the fashions of passersby. In every corner was a spider’s residence and many of them were asleep for the time being. They even passed by a shop that sold nothing but owls and another that had all sorts of animals in it. Could he bring an animal companion with him this year? The Dursleys probably would not like it. Maybe after a few years.

All around him were shops with hand painted signs that advertised they wares. A few magical folk milled about in the street, murmuring and mutter about this and that. Harry had the oddest sensation. One he had had since the professor arrived. He could hear whispers. Murmurs that were not from the wizards and witches around him but they followed them. Harry tried to focus on them but his attention was captured by the professor.

“Now, Mr. Potter, before we can get started on the shopping, we must go to Gringotts.” The professor, Filius Flitwick was his name, said as they made their way through the small morning crowd towards a looming marble building. The building had an enormous set of doors that was banked by towering columns. As they approached closer Harry spotted two severe looking beings guarding each side of the door carrying terrifying spears and looks that made it clear they were not to be messed with.

“Gringotts is run by goblins. They control majority of the financial system from banking to investing to property sales. Any and all magical currency that you use in Britain will have come from Gringotts.” Professor Filius was a good tour guide, Harry concluded as he was given fact after fact about different aspects of the magical world to satiate his curiosity. “I am part-goblin. On my grandmother’s side.”

There were words written above the door.

The two doors swung open before them and Harry was rushed inside by the professor from where he was trying to read the poem printed atop the door. He did not have a chance to even read the first full line.

“The poem is a very strong geas. A powerful magic. It prevents anyone that enters the bank from knowingly stealing from it.” The professor carried on without listening to Harry’s complaints. “I am in no part condoning stealing. But one can never be too careful about stray magic that one spells their own self with.”

Harry nodded.

“Come, come. Let’s see what vaults you have available shall we? If none can be found, then we shall speak with the Hogwarts Scholarship Account manager and set you up with a small sum to get started on buying the supplies since your guardians have not provided you any financial support.” At times the professor simply talked aloud to himself. It was a very one-sided conversation.

Harry was ushered to an open till. Professor Flitwick started to speak with the goblin behind the counter in rapid, guttural notes that like notebook paper being ripped in half. It was a grating language and not at similar the languages of the animals and trees. Harry could hear some of the intent but found himself unwilling to listen to the conversation too closely. The conversation was quick and to the point. Before long, a second goblin came and led the two of them to a small office in a left side hall.

“Mr. Potter. I’ve been waiting for you to visit us for some time now.” An aging goblin sat behind a large desk piled with stacks of parchment and bound files. “I am Nagnok, the manager of the Potter Estate as assigned by your mother and father. I hold the keys to your family vaults until you come of age. I also manage the portfolio and ensure all taxes are paid on time. I also have your heir rings and keys to your trust vault. However, for you to accept the ring you must be at least thirteen years of age.”

“Vaults, sir?” Harry was beyond surprised. He did not know his parents had so much wealth and had left him much of it.

“Indeed, young Potter. Vaults. Familial treasure, craft, heirloom and gold vaults to be exact as well as your trust vault and your mother’s and your father’s individual vaults. Your familial vaults are locked out to you until you become the head of Ancient and Noble House of Potter but your parent’s vaults will be free to you whenever you turn thirteen and accept your heirship.” The bank goblin pulled out a small golden key with the numbers 687.

“Is House of Potter something like a lordship?” Harry had read about lords and the monarchy system once when he was trying to hide from Dudley in the one place his cousin would not go to, the Library.

“Once upon a time, perhaps,” Nagnok shook his head, “but the lordship is more a symbol than anything with considerable power. It simply means that Ancient and Noble House of Potter was one of the first to settle into British Isles.”

“For now, I think it’s best if Mr. Potter receives his trust vault key and a deep coin bag.” Professor Flitwick said.

“Very well, goblin-born,” Nagnok rumbled as he rang a bell. A second goblin arrived at the office with the same severe look that all goblins tended to wear, “Griphook will lead you there.”

“Mr. Potter why don’t you go with Griphook and gather at least 1500 galleons, those are the gold coins. I have a few more things to discuss with Nagnok,” the professor handed off the coin bag and vault key to Harry. “Go on now.”

The two returned to their conversation in the same sharp tones and language. He was out of earshot before he could focus in on the intent of what was being said.

 

* * *

A breath stealing cart ride later and Harry was at his vault quite unable to believe that the people who he had believed to be drunkards who caused their own demise were rich enough to leave their son a pile, a small mountain, of gold. Harry was about to start gathering the coins.

He turned to Griphook, “How do you get the right amount of coins into the bag without county each one?”

Griphook was a banker after all and probably knew how to get the right amount.

“Simply place your bag at the entrance and ask for 1500 galleons human.” Harry could almost hear the eye roll even if it wasn’t visible.

 

* * *

An even faster cart ride back found Harry walking out of the bank with a shrunken coin bag, another trick taught to him by the professor, and on to Diagon Alley once more.

 

* * *

“Well then, Mr. Potter you are the student here. Where would you like to start first?” Professor Flitwick turned to him.

“Um…” Harry searched through the extensive list that had some things he had never heard of, “We should get a trunk. So, we don’t have to carry things around.”

“An excellent suggestion. I dare say, Ravenclaw would be glad to have you.” The professor said and led Harry down the alley that had started to gain more and more people since it was steadily becoming later in the morning.

“Professor Flitwick?”

“Yes, child?”

“You’ve said that word before. Ravenclaw. What does it mean?” Harry was struggling to keep up with the diminutive professor. The man could really walk for someone so short.

“Why it is the name of one of the founders of Hogwarts and the name of one of the houses.” Professor Flitwick made his way into the store front of a shop labeled Trunks and Bags Galore. “My own house to be exact. I was once a Ravenclaw and now I am the Head of House.”

“Really? Are there other houses?” Harry was far more interested in what the professor had to say than in shopping.

“Indeed. There are four houses in total. Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.”

“What house were my parents in, Professor?” Harry asked eagerly, wanting to hear more about the people that he did not have in his life.

“Your parents were both Gryffindors. Though your mother could have easily been a Ravenclaw for that matter.” Professor Flitwick nodded slightly as he stared off into the distance, “well, reminiscing will not get the shopping done and we really must finish up before the noon rush begins.”

“But I want…”

“Fear not Mr. Potter, we will have plenty of time to speak about your parents. Once we complete our shopping here, we will head out to London to grab a bite to eat and to gather a few more things. I shall answer all of your questions then.”

The two of them were loitering in the entrance of the shop and the clerk was not looking pleased. They made their way to a selection of trunks under the banner of ‘Hogwarts Special’.

“A good trunk is hard to come by and harder to replace. You should always seek out all options before deciding on a specific one.” Professor Flitwick passed by the trunks set aside without even a second glance. “Every house at Hogwarts, save for Gryffindor, has a few unspoken traditions. Such as those in Ravenclaw house, or expecting to go there, tend to buy a trunk with specialized compartments that serve as bookshelves. The same with Slytherin and potion ingredients and Hufflepuff with herbology materials.”

“What kind would you recommend for me?” Harry was unsure where to start with the information. On top of that, the store was bursting with trunks of every kind. There were advertisements for everything. From an aviary to artificial habitats in miniaturized spaces. It was a lot to take in.

The professor procured a piece of parchment from the clerk who looked to be a few moments away from asking them to stop loitering in his shop and leave.

“I would suggest you get one that has a bit of everything. A small potions compartment, enough to house the ingredients you will be buying today along with a stasis charm to keep them fresh. A decent sized compartment for your school books and any additional books you decide to purchase. Plenty of storage for clothes and nonperishables. A few drawers for undergarments and shoes as well as a few extra compartments in case need arises.” As he spoke, the professor started to write down the specifications he needed on the parchment. Harry was eternally grateful that he had the charm’s professor with him, otherwise he would have been completely lost.

“It isn’t a very extensively modified trunk, mind you, I’ve known magizoologist to carry around their entire menageries with them in their trunks but it will do for now. When you feel as though you have become more proficient in the exact needs your studies demand, I would suggest coming back here to get your trunk altered or purchasing a new one.” The professor walked over to some of the sample trunks waiting at the farther end of the store. “One heavy modification I would recommend is an ever-fresh compartment. It works based on a heavy stasis charm and keeps any ingredients that you place inside of it fresh for extensive periods of time. I have known it to work for months and even years. It a modification I recommend to all my Ravens if I seem to notice they have a… difficult… home-life, such as yourself.”

Each of the trunks showed a variety of colors and material. From wood to leather. Their price changed accordingly to the intensity of the intricate design or the material that covered the outside. This too got the same scrutiny as the interior of the trunk. In the end, they chose a simple middle range leather with designs that would change to Harry’s house once chosen and opened with a simple rune lock and a featherlight charm. Harry also purchased a new backpack with lightweight charms, no spill charms and an extension charm. He was ecstatic to have a new place to keep all his important materials.

Next came the bookstore, Flourish and Bolts. Harry bought all the required books as well as a few extra books for potions, herbology and several books on etiquette and essay writing, at the recommendation of Professor Flitwick, as well as a book titled Hogwarts: A History. Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, Potage's Cauldron Shop and Slug and Jiggers Apothecary got the same whirlwind treatment and Harry became more and more thankful that he had agreed to the featherlight charm as he was sure his trunk would be extremely heavy at the point that they managed to make it to Madam Malkin’s in order to purchase his uniform.

“Professor Flitwick what a surprise.” A portly woman greeted them from where she was busy taking measurements of a boy standing on a stool wit alarmingly blonde hair. “I’ve never seen you escort a student before.”

“I do escort them, Ms. Malkin, but not very often.” The professor removed his coat, hanging it on a coat rack that bent down to be in reach of him.

“How often do I have to tell you to call me Kynthia, Professor?” Harry was led onto a stool adjacent to the blonde.

“As many times as I tell you to call me Filius.” The professor chuckled before seating himself in a chair and taking out a newspaper to read from somewhere in his coat.

“Hogwarts too, are you?” It took Harry a few moments to realize that the blonde was talking to him.

“Err… yes,” Harry nodded slightly before being told to stand still by one of the assistants pining up the fabric along his sleeves.

“What house do you think you will be in? I’m expected to be in Slytherin. Father says that he’ll just have me go to another school if that isn’t the case.” The boy spoke with a haughty voice that complemented his upturned nose.

“I’m not sure.” Harry was starting to become a bit uneasy at the boy’s tone. It reminded him too much of Dudley.

“That’s alright I suppose, were they our kind at least?”

“They were magical, yes.”

“Well, my father says you never really know until you get sorted. He and my mother are looking at wands next door. Hah, could you imagine being a Hufflepuff?” A derisive laugh left the boy as he was told he could hop off by the seamstress. Perhaps it was the distraction that made him ignorant to the flash of hurt that flitted across the eyes of almost every assistant and the seamstress alike.

Harry simply gave a weak nod as a reply as he turned his attention to the swaths of fabric that decorated the walls. The colors varied greatly and the patterns were even more diverse. The boy left with a parting wave that Harry halfheartedly returned. His musings were interrupted by the assistant telling him his measurements were finished.

“Basic Hogwarts package dear?” Before Harry could nod he was interrupted by Professor Flitwick.

“Actually, Mr. Potter will be needing a full wardrobe. Several cloaks, enough robes, shirts, pants and undergarments for three weeks, enough socks for two weeks and four sets of plain black shoes.” The professor nodded to himself as he listed off the garments.

“Bless my soul, is he really?” It was already too late when the professor realized his blunder. At once Harry was swarmed by the shop owner and her assistants who were all shaking his hand and thanking him profusely.

“Now, now. Mr. Potter is quite flustered and I think it is time to give him some space.” It was a voice like the one that had berated Harry’s uncle but much more teacher like.

Ms. Malkin cleared her throat, feeling a bit ashamed. Turning to her girls she set them on the task of readying the clothes and turned to Professor Flitwick. “My apologies, Professor.”

“No harm done.” Professor Flitwick’s voice told a different story. “We shall be back after purchasing young Harry’s wand for his wardrobe.”

The short man led his charge out of the robe shop and into another store. Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC, the sign merrily announced in gold paint peeling off the sign. Could it really be that old? The store window held only a single wand resting on an aging purple pillow. Perhaps it was. Inside, the shop was a dust landscape of towering shelves lined with innumerable boxes. Boxes as far as the eye could see.

“I wondered when I would be seeing you here, Mr. Potter.” A man’s voice startled Harry out of his reverie. “I remember the day your mother and father came for their first wands. It feels like only yesterday.” The man stepped out of the shadows and started going through one of the tall stacks of boxes in the corner. “And Professor Flitwick as well, rowan and unicorn hair, nine and a quarter inches and nice and supple, if I am correct.”

“Indeed, you are, Garrick,” Professor Flitwick nodded, “you must tell me how you achieve that one day.”

“Perhaps I will, Filius.” Pulling out a single long box, the man made his way to the two figures, “Your father favored a pliable wand, Mr. Potter. Elven inches and mahogany. Excellent for transfiguration you know. Your mother, on the other hand, Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow and it was only natural that she was a natural in charms.”

The man placed the box atop the counter and opened it, “Well, I say they favored their wands but it is that wand that chooses the wizard.”

He opened the box and held out the handle for Harry to take.

Just as Harry reached out for the wand, a sense of unease rushed through his veins. There was something wrong. The wand did not want to be held by him. It was in distress. Harry was listening to the voice to of a tree and not looking at a finely carved piece of wood. Any other pieces of wood that were no longer attached to the tree garnered a similar reaction. This was odd. Harry did not like it one bit.

“I don’t think that wand is for me.” Harry stated as he shied away from the offered wand.

“Is that so?” Ollivander frowned before moving to another shelf and bringing out yet another wand, “and this?”

This one did not feel as hostile but there was a sense of unease. An itch waiting to be scratched.

“No, this one isn’t the one either.”

“Humm… curious.” Ollivander rubbed at his chin for a moment before nodding to himself. “Mr. Potter, why don’t you walk through the store and lead me to the one that feels like it’s yours.”

Harry turned towards Professor Flitwick, asking for his permission. The professor nodded and Harry wound his way through the dust and cobwebs covered store. As he wound his way he could hear the different wands as if there were innumerable trees cramped in tiny boxes. At the very end of the store was a simple black box that sang to something deep inside Harry. The song resonated in his bones as he itched to hold the object inside the box.

“This one Mr. Ollivander.” Harry pointed out the box before making his way back to the front of the store.

“Curious, very curios.” The man nodded to himself as he pulled the box out and walked to the front counter.

“I’m sorry but what is curious?” Harry inquired of the man that was fast getting lost in a world of his own with every passing moment.

“It is not every day that a wizard seeks out his wand, Mr. Potter.” Ollivander stood staring at the box sitting innocent atop the counter, “I remember every wand I have ever sold, Mr. Potter. This wand, however, had a twin brother. You see, the phoenix that gave the feather for this wand also gave another. And that wand, I’m afraid, gave you that scar.”

The older man pushed Harry’s bangs aside to point at the scar that only until now Harry believed to have been caused by a car crash. Now, he was not so certain.

“A wizard rarely has the affinity to sense wands at the level you seem to be capable of Mr. Potter. I believe that we can expect great things from you. For the brother of this wand did great things as well. Terrible, but great.”


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 is almost done!!!! I'm so happy that you guys are enjoying this! Thank you for all the kind words and the kudos! The are my motivation

Harry and Professor Flitwick left the wand shop in somewhat of a daze. Both mind reeling at the implications presented to them in only a few short moments.

The rest of the trip was a rather subdued affair. Harry was led back to London and got another full wardrobe. This time courtesy of a group of teenagers that worked at a large clothing store. The two figures made their way to a small restaurant to eat a meal and for Harry to finally be able to ask a few questions.

“How did my parents die, Professor?” Harry asked as he poked at his helping of potatoes.

“No one knows for certain, Harry.” The professor sighed before speaking. “The night it happened is shrouded in conspiracy and misinformation. What is for certain is that the Dark Lord, Voldemort, was no more.”

“Voldemort, sir?” Harry inquired as he tested the name out on his tongue.

“Indeed. He was the cause of the second wizarding war. A most feared and loathed dark wizard who rose to power. So fearsome that many still are afraid to speak his name and call him He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Names. His agenda was wiping out the muggle influence in the magical world by any means necessary.”

“Muggle? What is a muggle?” There were so many new words and names for Harry to learn and memorize. Would be able to keep up with them all?

Professor Flitwick stroked his mustache clean of any stray crumbs of food. “A muggle is someone who does not poses the ability to control magic. Their main influence on the wizarding community is through muggleborns, magical children born to non-magical parents. You will hear the term _‘mudblood´_ being used by small minded individuals. I would recommend not repeating it.”

A confused look. “So, this dark wizard person, Voldemort, didn’t like non-magical? But what does that have to do with my parents?”

“Well Harry, your parents were part of a resistance movement that aimed to curb Voldemort’s plans and prevent his control over the wizarding world. Your mother was a muggleborn as well.” The professor spoke fondly of his former students.

“Wow, so they were like heroes?” Harry wanted to know as much as he could about the people that brought him into the world. He had long believed them to be the scum of the world but now, now he knew different. They were magical. His father had been strong, according to Ollivander and so was his mother and Professor Flitwick made them seem like heroes. Something right out of one of Dudley’s comic books.

“Oh, very much like heroes, Mr. Potter. Their defiance of the dark wizard made them a target so they went into hiding. Not much else is known about what happened. But one thing is certain. That night, Voldemort cast a dark, unforgivable cure meant to end your life. Yet, you lived. That is why Mr. Malkin was so excited to know your name. You are famous here, Harry.” Professor Flitwick told him solemnly.

“Famous? I’m famous for living through the night my parents died?” Harry had a right to be incredulous at the notion that simply surviving would warrant fame. He would rather have his family instead.

“Unfortunately, yes, they have dubbed you the Boy-Who-Lived.” Professor Flitwick was saddened as he watched his word sink into the small boy in front him.

 

* * *

The return trip was far more solemn and subdued than the trip to London had been. Night had fallen as they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron. Professor Flitwick insisted upon buying a variety of freshly made food to-go so that Harry could place them in his trunk. A ‘just in case’ precaution on the professor’s part but Harry was thankful none-the-less. While the use of magic made the wait much shorter, they had remained longer than any other patron that arrived the same time as them because. The Knight Bus still jerked and veered in all directions but gone was the overflowing enthusiasm about the magical world. He was excited and couldn’t wait to go to Hogwarts. Would he be affected by being called the Boy-Who-Lived by his peers? Harry did not know.

The bus deposited them and their newly acquired trunk in front of Number 4 before pulling away with squealing tires. There may have been a cat shriek in the distance. They made their way into the house, Harry opened the door without knocking. He lived there after all.

“Mr. Potter, why don’t you go place your new purchases in your new room while I go speak with your guardians.” Professor Flitwick had a small grin forming on his lips.

Harry made a beeline for the former guestroom not wanting to be in the crossfire between the diminutive professor and his aunt and uncle. As he placed his trunk by the bed and pulled out a pair of pajamas. He changed quickly and sat down on the bed with a sigh. Muffled yells and bellows were filtering in through the floorboards from the kitchen below. Harry hoped the professor would be fine but from he could tell Professor Flitwick could hold his own. An hour passed before the voices start to die down, he had not heard his aunt’s shrill voice for some time. Had been ‘silenced’ again?

A knock came at his door a few moments later.

“Well Mr. Potter, I have spoken to your guardians and they have agreed to my terms.” Professor Flitwick said merrily as if he hadn’t been in an hour-long argument with two very unpleasant people, “Here is your ticket. Your uncle shall take you to King’s Cross station on August 31st. From there you will take Platform 9 ¾. In order to access the platform, you will need to travel through a portal located between Platforms 9 and 10 in the column. Do not worry if you feel scared. I assure you all will be well.”

Harry nodded ad he held the small ticket in his hand. The paper displayed a moving train with the words ‘Platform 9 ¾’ written above it.

“Well then, rest well Mr. Potter. I hope to see you at Hogwarts.”

The professor left swiftly and soon Harry sat in the second largest room in Number 4, next to master bedroom, and thought over his insane day. He learned more about his parents than he had ever known his entire short life. He had already known he could do magic thanks to the wisteria. What he did not know what all that magic was capable of. He had a trunk full of mystifying objects and ingredients of all kind. He also got a full wardrobe with clothes that fit him perfectly, something he had only dreamed of.

Opening the trunk, Harry pulled open the stay-fresh compartment and pulled out a small box that contained a steaming, fresh brownie. He grabbed one of the etiquette books recommended to him and began to read.

One thing was for certain. Harry could not wait to go Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pssst! Did you know I have a [tumblr?](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/)


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all of your lovely words and kudos! They help me to keep smiling on rough days. 
> 
> ENJOY!

It was August 30th and Harry was in the park as usual, under the oak tree as usual. Summer had gone by quickly. His relatives had left him alone, for the most part. Dudley made a big fuss when he learned his second bedroom would be taken away and turned into a guestroom. He threw an even bigger tantrum upon seeing Harry in the (former) guestroom because it was slightly bigger than Dudley’s own bedroom and had its own bathroom. The trunk had come in very handy when Dudley’s rather obvious choice of revenge was destruction of Harry’s new clothes. The rune lock had served its purpose well and did not budge even an inch under the brute’s hands. Other than Dudley and his occasional trashing of Harry’s room, everything had gone smoothly. Harry still had a long list of chores to do but there was a lack of consequences when he did not perform the task to his uncle’s standards. Aunt Petunia had tried to withhold meals at the beginning but quickly learned, from the dishes Harry came downstairs to wash, that Harry got fed no matter what. She allowed him to attend meals once again, if only to prevent any further ‘freakishness’ in her house.

An open and annotated book lay on his lap as Harry excitedly retold what he had seen in the magical side of London to the enraptured trees and a squirrel that stopped by and listen. The raven sat on her usual perch on Harry’s shoulder and nodded along with the tale.

 _‘Silly humans fly too. Don’t know why. All limbs and hair,’_ Harry thought the raven was doing a great impression of aunt Petunia, disdainful sniffs and all. _‘Leave flying to the graceful!’_

That caught Harry’s attention. “They can fly?”

_‘Fly on sticks with bristles. Stupid mammals need to stick to the ground.’_

Harry did not deign that with a reply. Bats were still a sticking point to the avian vs. mammal argument. Sticks with bristles, brooms? So, riding a broom was real? Would he get to ride on one too? How? When? He had so many questions but his friends had been drained of their information. The wisteria only knew a bit about young wizards and witches and not much beyond that. The raven only had criticism and the others knew next to nothing.

All it did was serve to make Harry far more excited to go to his new boarding school.

When he told them of the owl shop they saw in alley, the raven huffed and ruffled her feathers a bit.

_‘Hair-brained birds. Carry post all day. No decorum at all.’_

Harry tried not to laugh at the miffed voice of the bird. “That might be true but they seem very important. I should have bought one. It may have been helpful.”

_‘Any bird can deliver a letter… Their owls are changed with magic. Ravens don’t need to be changed. Ravens have their own magic.’_

“They do?” He had never heard of a bird with magic before.

_‘All ravens do. Helps us see. Helps us hear. Makes us smarter. I will go with you. Keep you safe.’_

“But the letter said that only owls, cats or toads.” Harry did not want to get into trouble on the first day of his studies.

_‘Can’t rid of familiars. Do not worry.’_

And that was that. The raven, she had agreed to being called Munin, would fly to King’s Cross where she would ride the train with him to Hogwarts and keep an eye on him all the while.

 

* * *

As the morning rose on the new day, Harry woke bright and early. He was eager to get a move on and leave the house he had been trapped in for the last 11 years of his life.

Aunt Petunia kept sniffling as she hugged Dudley to herself throughout breakfast. Dudley equally gave a stunning performance of a reluctant son. Harry found that amusing, seeing as how Dudley had bragged about his private boarding school all summer long but he was not about to voice that to aunt Petunia. As the morning dragged on, his relatives continued to pretend he did not exist which was perfectly fine with Harry. Better to be unseen than noticed and reprimanded for some imagined wrong.

Uncle Vernon must have sucked on a particularly sour lemon as he loaded up Dudley’s trunk into the van and left Harry to put his own away. His face was scrunched up and twisted in a miffed frown. Munin, who had been perched on uncle Vernon’s brand-new van, took flight upon seeing them leave the house but kept circling the car. Aunt Petunia muttered about bad omens as they finally managed to get out of the driveway and onto the road. Harry for his part was mostly quiet and almost vibrating in his position in the back seat next to Dudley.

The drive to King’s Cross Station was uneventful and rather normal. Dudley became skittish of being in the same confined place as Harry after an incident where an oak branch ‘accidentally’ threw Dudley across the park when he had tried to beat Harry up. Despite their assurances, Harry’s relatives had been unable to convince Dudley that it had nothing to do with his cousin. Dudley kept his distance ever since.

“What platform are you getting onto your train, boy?” The gruff voice of his uncle disrupted his thoughts as Harry unloaded his trunk onto a trolley. 

“9 ¾, uncle Vernon.” Harry watched as Munin came to perch on his trunk, completely unbothered by the goings on around her.

Vernon Dursley sputtered for a moment, the insult at the tip of his tongue completely forgotten at the sudden arrival of the raven that was staring at him with intelligent eyes. He harrumphed and ushered his son and wife to the train that would take them to Dudley’s school. Aunt Petunia skirted around Harry’s belongings before she pulled Dudley to her side and shuffled off, sniffling into a tissue the entire time.

Harry watched them walk away for a moment before turning back to Munin and his trolley and walking off to find platforms 9 and 10. Would his parents have fussed when he went away? Would his mother have cried and his father told him to be good? What kind of people would they have been? Harry’s head swirled with questions and wants. He tried to shake them off and broke into a light jog as he made his way farther into the station Would they be proud of him? Would they have been mad at the Dursleys? Would they hate normal people like Dursleys hated magical people? His thoughts swirled and spiraled faster until finally he arrived at the junction between platforms 9 and 10.

Steeling himself, he broke into a run. Despite professor Flitwick’s assurance Harry had filly expected to encounter a brick wall as he barreled closer. To his surprise and delight he went through the wall and to a hidden platform. Platform 9 ¾.

And what a platform it was.

A bright red steam engine puffed out bellowing clouds as parents and students milled around. Harry fell a little in love with the slice of the world hidden away from all prying eyes. The clock on the wall said the train would pull away at 1 o’clock and it was only 9 in the morning. Harry had plenty of time to find a place to sit. Students were saying goodbye of family and hello to friends all around him as Harry worked his way to one of the cars.

Munin flapped her wings and complained about the odd feeling of human magic. Harry, too, tried to shake off the buzzing murmurs of wands not his own. Would it be worse in Hogwarts where everyone carried a wand? Harry could only hope to get better at ignoring them.

He was infinitely thankful that his trunk was featherlight as he carried it onto the train and went to work finding an empty compartment. Munin gave a slight squawk as her perch was disturbed but took the opportunity to sit on his head in retaliation. Would he too would make friends? The thought came to him several giggling and laughing students pile into one of the compartments. Eventually, he found one close to the end of the car and deposited his trunk on the luggage rack above him.

Harry pulled his bag open and took out his potions book. Harry had taken advantage of his relatives’ aloof attitude towards him to work his way through the reading for the school year as well as the several additional books that the professor had recommended. Harry had always been a studious person and had tried his best in school despite the Dursleys’ trying to withhold his education from him. The result was a large pile of used notebooks that contained all his notes. While his writing with a quill had improved significantly, Harry still preferred to use pens when writing notes.

Students kept pilling on and Harry made his way through the last few chapters of the potions textbook and opened his history book. He barely took note of a shrill of the train whistle blaring into the afternoon air. He did take notice of the train jerking into motion. He had nearly fallen off his seat.

The train station was filled with waving parents and sibling. Harry’s eyes never left them as the train gained speed. His eyes were trained on that very spot in the distance even as it blurred. His mind held wishes he knew would never come true. He finally tore himself away from the window only to find he had a visitor.

A croaky visitor.

There was a squat toad seated on the floor of his compartment staring up at him.

Munin gave a squawk of interest.

The toad shivered slightly in fear.

“Are you lost?” Harry inquired. I was odd that there was a frog on the train without a person with them.

 _‘Can’t find. Got hungry. Chased a fly. Can’t find.’_ Harry could see that the toad was in dire stress. Its head swiveled here and there, looking all around.

“You can wait here to see if your owner comes looking for you,” the toad nodded and shuffled into Harry’s waiting hands.

Harry deposited the toad onto the opposite seat from him. “Do you know what your owner looked like?”

 _‘Boy. My boy. Smells like earth. Plant boy.’_ Had he seen anyone like that? Plant boy must not be a very visible characteristic.

“I’m sure he will come by.”

And he did. Well it was more of a she. “Have you seen a toad?”

She startled him out of his reading. Harry had been halfway through the Goblin Rebellion of 1752, Albert Boot was still the Minister of Magic but quickly on his way out. Her hair was bushy, surrounding her head in a brown, curly haze. She was clad in her uniform already and looked at him impatiently.

“Neville’s lost one.” She asked briskly as she tapped her foot against the ground, a runner ready to leap into action given the chance.

“There’s a toad here but I think he’s waiting for someone to come find him.” It was always a struggle for Harry to not personify the creatures he spoke to.

“Waiting? Whatever do you mean?” She tilted her head as she studied him like a bug under a magnifying glass.

“Seems. I mean that he seems to be waiting. For someone, I mean. He seems to be waiting on someone to come find him.” Harry pointed to the toad that had turned his attention to the girl in the doorway as well.

“Hermione, did you find him yet?” Another voice joined them from behind the bushy-haired girl. The arrival of the new voice sent the toad into happy croaks as it wiggled off the seat and scrambled to the doorway.

“Trevor!” The pudgy boy exclaimed as he picked up the wiggling toad. He pulled the small animal to his chest.

“I’m glad you found him, Neville.” Harry smiled slightly as he put his book to the side. “Do you guys want to sit down?”

“Yes, thank you,” the bushy haired girl said as she sat down on the seat Trevor the Toad had been occupying. She patted the spot next to her and Neville took it dutifully. “I’m Hermione Granger and this is Neville Longbottom, you are?”

“Harry. Harry Potter.” He said as the raven perched near his trunk squawked, “And that’s Munin.”

“Are you really?” Hermione’s expression turned excited, “I’ve read all about you. The books in Diagon Alley didn’t have a lot though.”

“Yeah.” Harry shifted awkwardly. He was not used to being recognized nor having books written about him. He would have to find those books later. Just what were they writing about him?

“Do you have...!” The pudgy boy, Trevor’s Neville, exclaimed suddenly but quickly fell quiet when the other two occupants in the room turned to stare at him, “The scar. Do you have the scar?” He finished off in near whisper.

“Oh…uh yeah, I do,” Harry stared at the boy for a few moments before brushing his messy fringe to the side for a split second. He covered it back up just as quickly. Harry was warned of the importance of is scar by the professor during their prolonged visit to the muggle half of London. He hated the idea of it being a symbol but he decided he would endure. For now.

Could he hide it away with magic?


	7. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaay! Another chapter is DONE! I hope you guys like it and let me know what you think.

Night had fallen around the train. A slowly descending blanket that covered the land in inky blackness. The lights of the train cars and the engine being the only ones to brave the pitch black of the country landscape. Harry wondered how long until they arrived at Hogwarts. He and his two companions had taken advantage of the sweet trolley that rumbled by, manned by an aging but kind faced witch, to nab a few novelty sweets and candies. Harry had a small heart attack when he was assaulted by a _silent_ chocolate frog. Neville explained the charms behind it, only after he was done laughing at Harry’s expense of course. The trio tried a few of the ‘Every Flavor Beans’ and Harry learned that _every_ flavor was not an exaggeration. He wondered if he would ever get the taste of leather shoes out of his mouth. All in all, it was a very pleasant trip. Harry felt much better about his upcoming school year, knowing that he had made two friends.

“I’m going to step out so you two can get dressed.” Hermione, who had been in her uniform the entire time, stated. Her voice shaking Harry out of his contemplative viewing of the scenery flying past.

Harry gave a silent nod. He should really have dressed in uniform. Neville only had to pull on his jumper and robe so he, too, joined Hermione outside the compartment. Harry could hear her muffled instructions on how to tie a _proper_ tie. He allowed himself a small giggle at Neville’s expense. A flurry of fabric, a lot of squawking from a disturbed Munin and some deftly applied ironing charms by Hermione, she really did know a lot about magic, later, Harry was ready to go. Hermione had even repaired his glasses.

 

* * *

A deep, booming voice had led the first years to a slew of gently bobbing boats in the water. Munin had taken that as her cue to fly off and leave her charge slowly turning green as he tried not to fall overboard. Hermione and Neville had joined him and were looking no worse for wear. A fourth boy, ginger haired boy with a wiggling rat in his pocket, had also joined their group and had been talking nonstop about something or other. Harry had caught bits and pieces of the one-sided conversation. Something about troll fights and ceremonies.

Hermione was studiously ignoring the fourth addition to their group while Neville seemed to have started to grow worried with every word the boy spoke.

“Honestly,” Hermione interjected with a huff, “the sorting ceremony is nothing of that sort.”

This seemed to rub the ginger the wrong way, “Well, how would you know? You’re just a first year like us.”

“Professor McGonagall explained it to my parents and I,” if Hermione’s gaze was any colder the ginger haired boy, Harry really should have asked his name, would have been a glacier floating away in the lake. It probably would have been bad for the lake dwelling fish and whatever had deemed it necessary to make the students in the left-most boats scream their heads off. Did the lake have its own monster like Loch Ness?

“Oh yeah?” The two looked like they would tear each other to pieces. Verbally or otherwise.

Thankfully they reached the shore at that moment. Harry had never been gladder to stand on solid ground.

He nearly kissed the tiled surface. Or did he almost slip?

The air was humming with magic. It was almost palpable.

A soft vibration running under the flagstones of the corridor and stairway they were walking through. A shine on the polished wood of the carved door they stopped in front of. A low light shining through the tall windows of the hall around them despite the heavy cover of night.

Harry felt it wrap around him. Gentle and soothing like a warm blanket. He felt more than welcome.

Hermione and Neville, much like everyone else, were looking around in awe at the magnificent interior of the castle.

“The first years, Professor McGonagall.” The same voice rumbled from the front of the group. A large, looming man that seemed to be part fur rug stood speaking to a tall, severe looking woman.

“Thank you, Hagrid.” Professor McGonagall said before turning to the small crowd of assembled students.

Harry distantly heard the larger man shuffle off back to the boats but it was hard to pay attention when he felt like the gaze of the professor was dissecting him and his fellow first years.

After what felt like an eternity, the professor finally addressed them.

“In a few moments, you will step through that door and enter the Great Hall. Where you will be sorted into one of four Houses. Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin and Gryffindor. Your House will be like your family during your time here at Hogwarts. Your actions will either gain or lose point for your House. At the end of the year, those points will decide who wins the House cup.” She turned and walked towards the door, “your things will be placed in whichever House you are in. Come along now. Single file.”

The gathered students managed to order themselves into a somewhat loose single file line as the entered the Great Hall. There was a lot of shoving and pushing from one particular group of students. Harry, luckily, managed to steer clear of the commotion by sticking close to Hermione and Neville. Hermione was expounding upon the ceiling’s history to another girl with curly short hair while Neville mussed with his tie in a nervous twitch.

Harry, on the other hand, was lost. Completely and entirely. The uncomfortable muttering of voices he had heard on the train station was worse. Much worse. Hundreds of students were gathered in the Great Hall, all carrying their own wands and each wand speaking its own voice. It was a cacophony of sounds and voices and noises. The room itself had a loud hum of its own that reach greater volume in the ceiling, brightly lit by innumerable floating candles and mirroring the night sky. It was loud and it was distracting. The air thrummed against Harry’s skin with a warmth just a little beyond comfortable. And there were spots. Cold, freezing cold. Like the dead. Twisting in and out of focus bit staying long enough to have a form. It felt like the magic in these spots was decaying, dying, slowly…

“Are you alright Harry?” Neville’s voice had Harry’s senses slamming back into his body with enough force to nearly stagger him.

“Wha… Uhh… Yeah, I’m fine.” Harry rubbed at the side of his head as the call of all the magic around him faded away leaving only the chattering of the black clad students.

“Alright,” Neville sounded wholly unconvinced but remained quiet nonetheless. He was nice like that.

“Wait here.” Professor McGonagall ordered before walking up the small flight of stairs to a stool where a tattered hat sat, slumped to the side. “When I call you name, you will come up and sit. I will then place the sorting hat on your head and it will sort you to your proper house.”

And so, began the long and tiring process of each student being submitted under the whim of the _animated_ sorting hat.

Distantly Harry could hear the ginger haired boy, Harry should really ask him his name before he was permanently dubbed as ginger-haired-boy in his mind, GHB for short, muttering about strangling his brothers.

 

* * *

Everyone was muttering and staring at him. It started the second that Professor McGonagall called out his name. Not the exact second. The first few seconds were deadly quiet. As if the entire hall held its breath. The silence had been broken by one student muttering about his identity to another. That ‘all that took for the dam of sound to burst. All the students were turning to one another and discussing him. His scar, his height, his hair, his built, his weight, or the lack there of, were being scrutinized and commented on by a myriad of nameless onlookers. It took all of Harry’s courage to not stagger off the stool when the ratty hat was placed on his head and not jump out of his skin when he heard a voice mutter in his very head.

_“Well, well. You certainly are a jumpy one.”_

“Who…” Harry turned his head from side to side, “Whose there?”

_“I’m up here, young Mr. Potter.”_

“Are you… are you the hat?” Harry asked with incredulousness dripping from his voice.

_“Why yes, I am. Magic can do many things Mr. Potter. Make brooms fly. Let you walk through illusionary walls. Making hats speak inside your head. Many, many things.”_

“How were you made? How can you speak? Who made you? Why? Were you always the sorting hat?” Harry’s curiosity got the better of him as he started to wonder about the nature of a talking, telepathic even, hat of all things.

_“Now, now. I am supposed to be the one asking the questions here.”_

“Sorry…” Harry muttered.

_“Curiosity is a very good trait to have, Mr. Potter. One must always remain curious about the world around them lest they fall into complacency and follow the rule of law without question. Don’t you agree?”_

“I… I think so.”

_“Indeed. Now, I see much potential inside of you. Beyond the bursting curiosity. You are loyal to those you hold dear. Cunning and clever in your daily life. Bravery and hardheadedness is there as well. My, my. Wherever shall we place you?”_

“Um… I don’t really know. I know my parents were Gryffindors. But…”

_“Indeed. However, you have the curious and studious mind of your mother. Hers was overshadowed by her sheer tenacity that runs through majority of Gryffindors. Your father was the epitome of bullheaded youth and yet intelligent where he chose to apply himself.”_

“So, they weren’t just brave?” Harry wanted to ask so much about his parents. Would the hat even answer his questions? It hadn’t before.

_“Oh yes, they were brave but they were so much more than that. Just as you are. Before I send you on your way, Mr. Potter. I have a bit of advice for you. Knowledge for knowledge’s sake is good but ultimately lacks a purpose. You must not only share your knowledge but add to it from those around you. Learn not just from words on paper but from life itself. Add those words to paper so others of your line may learn from you. Do not hoard knowledge for in the end, it will only die with you.”_

Harry nodded his head vigorously as he tried to commit those words to memory.

_“Then, better be…”_

_“ **RAVENCLAW** ”_

The last words were spoken out loud to the hall. At which point the entirety of the table clad in blue and bronze ties erupted in applause and cheers. Harry quickly got off the stool, nearly tripping over when he put weight on his sleeping left leg. How long had he been sitting there? Handing the hat off to the tall professor, Harry shuffled off to the long table and took a seat next to a grinning Hermione. Who promptly hugged him upon his arrival. Harry could see Neville waving at him from the Hufflepuff table. He returned the wave enthusiastically.

Maybe this school year would be great instead of just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions, suggestions or just want to talk about life, come join me on [tumblr.](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/)


	8. Part 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update guys! We're all caught up with my backlog so the updates might take a bit longer. I will still try to update every week but I apologize if they are a bit later than usual. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy!

The only remaining signs of dinner were full bellies all around. All the food and plates had been cleared away as quickly as they had been set out.

“Welcome to all our newest students and a warm welcome back to all returning students.” An aged wizard dressed in sparkling pale blue robes stood at a golden dais surrounded by floating candles. “I would like to say a few words before we all toddle off to bed to face tomorrow at Hogwarts.”

“That’s Albus Dumbledore,” Hermione whispered to Harry as he turned to her in slight confusion, “the Headmaster.” Harry gave a nod and turned back just in time to hear the last of the headmaster’s words.

“Mr. Flich would like to remind you that the Forbidden Forest is off limits to all students. No matter the reasoning, Mr. Weasleys.” He looked to a pair of twins at the Gryffindor table that were howling with laughter. “In addition, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to any student who does not wish to meet a most painful end.”

The hall was pin drop silent at the declaration. Harry looked to Hermione to make sure he was hearing the words correctly or some stray wand had started to influence his hearing in the interim. Her pale face told him everything he needed to know.

“Now then, off you go. Tomorrow is a big day after all.”

 

* * *

 

No amount of excitement of learning magic could make Harry want to attend the first official day of school. Despite waking up early, he was late to arrive to breakfast. He had met a myriad of annoyances in the dormitory’s bathroom with the magical equivalents of muggle bathroom fixtures and dragging his corpse like body all the way from the tower where the Ravenclaw dorm was to the Great Hall had been an exercise in determination.

Harry wondered if there was any specific age limit before one could get addicted to caffeine or if he could start now. Munin would probably be very disappointed, he posited.

There had been barely any time to drag the quickly falling asleep students to the tower dedicated to the Ravenclaws the previous night. Thus, they had all been shuffled off to bed and were expected to return to the dorm at the end of their classes in the evening for proper introductions.

To his surprise and delight, all his things, including a perch for his raven feathered friend, had been moved to the large room he was sharing the large space with three other boys. Dressing up had been an odd experience.

Harry had found a small stack of papers on the night stand next to his four-poster bed. The packet contained a map of the school, his class schedule and a general list of things to keep on him for the first day of classes. Harry could only hope his sleep addled brain had remembered any of them let alone all.

“Good morning, Harry!” The enthusiastic voice of his new friend jolted him out of the slight haze that swirled around in his brain. “Did you look through your schedule yet? I’m very excited about Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall teaches it you know? She demonstrated for my parents and me. I don’t know how useful turning a table into pig would be in an everyday person’s life but I’m sure the theory is more the important part there. Though, I’m also very curious about Potions. I wonder if it’s anything like chemistry. I was very good at chemistry in my previous school…”

Hermione was saying something. A lot of things. Now if only he could focus on her words and pay attention to them. Harry instead opted to nod his head as he took a bite of toast. Hermione was looking at him expectantly. Had he missed a question?

“Um, what did you say? Sorry, I didn’t catch the last part.” He opted for a safer option.

“Oh, sorry, I’ve been told I tend to get overexcited about things. I wanted to know what class are you looking forward to.”

“Herbology, definitely and History of Magic.” Harry offered.

“Really? Why History of Magic?” Hermione asked curiously as she arranged a small bit of jam onto her toast.

“Because I figured that’s where we’ll learn more about the Magical World.”

“Understandable,” she nodded sagely and got busy with her own breakfast.

Harry took the moment of calm to scan over the class schedule that had been part of his welcoming packet. There were a lot of classes shared with Slytherin and Gryffindor. A few were shared with Hufflepuff as well, Charms. And of course, flying. He wondered if he would see Neville there.

“Ready to leave, Harry?” Hermione caught his attention once more as he polished off the last of his pumpkin juice with a slight wince. He wondered if he could ask someone about getting something normal like apple or orange juice. Though looking at the lack of care his housemates had about the odd beverage, he somehow doubted it.

“Yeah,” they gathered their things and he let Hermione lead the way to the classroom. His sense of direction was shoddy at best and completely broken at the worst. Better to let someone who seemed like they knew their way around then to get them both lost.

“I already mapped out our classes so we can get to them the fastest.” Hermione spoke nervously as if she expected Harry to respond in a negative manner. She sounded a bit like Harry did whenever he would tell his aunt that he got a better grade then Dudley.

“Great! That means I don’t have to get us lost in the castle.” He exclaimed happily as he marched forwards.

“Harry…”

“Yeah?”

“The class is this way.”

“I knew that!”

 

* * *

 

The classroom was filled with their fellow Ravenclaws and a few Gryffindors when the two arrived. A regal gray tabby sat upon the professor’s desk. They quickly took a desk close to the front and got out their books. Hermione took out a roll of parchment but Harry chose to get out a new notebook instead.

“You got a non-magical notebook?” Hermione inquired as she dated and numbered the parchment.

“I thought it was the best way to stay organized instead of having to keep up with parchment. Am I not allowed?”

“Oh, good idea. That might be a wonderful way to keep notes. I don’t know if it’s allowed or not but couldn’t hurt to try.”

Harry nodded and went back to labeling his notebook properly.

The class was almost about to begin but there were still a few stragglers it seemed. More from the Gryffindor side then the Ravenclaw.

The door of the classroom burst open just as the last of the students were taking their sets. Two boys dressed in Gryffindor red raced down the aisle between the desks. First being Seamus Finnigan from what Harry could remember and the second Ron Weasley. Harry had finally found out the name of the GHB. The stark red hair was hard to forget. As was the way the young boy had squealed when the Sorting hat spoke to him.

“Thank Merlin, we made it!” The redhead exclaimed as the pair of them tried to catch their breath. Harry saw the regal tabby shift a bit at her perch on the desk.

“Yea mate, could you imagine the look on McGonagall’s face if we were late to the first class?” Finnigan chimed in as he took in lungful of air.

Harry watched with rapt attention as the tabby went from sitting on the desk to jumping off it. It wasn’t the jump that was impressive but how the cat went from a feline to human in a few mere seconds. The human being the stern-faced Professor McGonagall to be exact.

“Bloody brilliant,” Finnigan gasped out. Harry had to agree.

“Well thank you for the assessment Mr. Finnigan, I don’t suppose I would need to transfigure one of you into a map for you to find your way to your seats?”

Shaking their heads, the two boys took a set of empty seats.

And so, began one of Harry’s firsts classes. Not with droning introductions but promises of complex and dangerous magic and warnings of a swift and brutal expulsions for any and all caught making fun in her class.

Harry had never been more wrong about his first day of classes.

 

* * *

 

The charms classroom was eclectic to say the least. Stacks upon stacks of books littered every corner of the room not occupied by desks, benches, large blackboards with obscure symbols and shelves and cases containing equally enigmatic objects. Professor Flitwick stood upon one such stack, flanked by many taller ones.

“Welcome, welcome,” the professor’s smile was infectious.

Harry found himself sandwiched between an excited Neville Longbottom who seemed energized from his previous class, Herbology, and a practically vibrating Hermione. After getting her first real taste of magic, Hermione seemed ready to bounce off the walls. Harry wondered if he could bottle her up and use her as a never-ending source of power. Best to leave such things to the professionals.

“Welcome to your first, of many, Charms classes.” The diminutive professor exclaimed as he teetered precariously on his stack of books. With a flick of his wand numerous parchments took flight from his desk and alighted themselves before waiting student watching with rapt attention. A whisper of awe and delight flowed through the assembled group of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs.

“Well then, let’s get started with today’s lessons: the basics of charms wand work, shall we?”

Harry flipped through his notebook and started to take notes.

 

* * *

 

Dungeon was a perfect descriptor of their current location, Harry thought as he looked around the dimly lit classroom. It had taken them several twists and turns down confusing corridors and equally confusing staircases. Harry was certain they had gone up more than gone down. He tried not to dwell on the spatial integrity of the castle, lest he go mad from some obscure knowledge. The room’s lighting might be affecting him more than he thought.

Shelves lined every inch of the dark stone walls. Jars of glass, and something not quite glass, lined every inch of the shelves. Twitching, twisting, convulsing and squirming things occupied the jars. Looking at some of them made Harry feel queasy. There was a large glass jar of blinking, glaring eyes in the far-left corner of the room that a large, brutish Slytherin boy was having a staring contest with. He was losing, miserably.

Potions classroom was a far cry from his previous ones. The bright and welcoming air of Charms was replaced with a dark and oppressive one. In the place of Transfigurations’ calm and collected light was a deeply cynical and menacing glow originating from large, metal braziers clinging to the stone pillars that bisected the room.

The jar of eyes blinked. Harry resolutely stared at the open pages of his notebook instead. Hermione fidgeted next to him and double checked her double-checked date on her parchment. Someone in the back of the classroom coughed.

Whispers coiled in his mind. Some voices dead, others dying, all amplified by the murmuring words of wand woods and wand cores of the students all around him. Just as Harry thought he might scream or run or do something equally insane, the door burst open sending a cloud of dust motes flying. A tall, lanky figure strode through the opening and made his way to the front of the class.

“Welcome to your first potions class.” The voice was grave and dry, barely a whisper but in the pin-drop silence of the room, it felt more than loud enough. “In this classroom, there will be no wand-waving so put away your flight of fancy. Here, you will bear witness to the subtle art of a simmering cauldron, the cold science of shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that can ensnare minds, bring glory and fame and even change the course of death.”

Dark eyes surveyed the mass of students. Some staring in awe, some in disbelief and many with a hint of fear in their eyes.

“I doubt many of you will truly appreciate the exact art and science of potion making. Some of you will. If you are not as useless as those who I usually bear witness to.”

Hermione’s vibrating energy was back, though from fear or excitement, Harry couldn’t tell.

“Potter!” His name brought his attention back to the looming form of the professor.

“Our new resident celebrity.” A snicker flew through the Slytherin half of the room with a few Ravenclaws joining in. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Powered what now? Wormwood meant drowsiness, that much Harry knew. He felt Hermione’s hand fly upwards as she waited to be called on.

“Something that would make you tired,” and a beat later he hastily added, “sir.”

“Hmmm… Not a complete loss after all.” Professor Snape looked anything but pleased. “The potion resulting is the Drought of Living Death. Where exactly would I find a bezoar, Potter?”

“In the stomach of an animal, sir, it’s a hardened hairball.” That much he knew from listening to the alley cats complain.

“Indeed,” the professor resembled more and more like he was sucking on a particularly tart lemon. “And what is the difference monkshood and wolfsbane?”

“They are the same plant which is also known as aconite.”

If looks could kill, Harry was certain he would have found out what exactly lay beyond the veil of death in that moment. After keeping him under the business end of a glare deep enough to rival Aunt Petunia’s, the professor finally turned away and stomped to the front of the class.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get out your quills and copy that down!”

Harry was sadly mistaken if he thought the class would get better from that point on. Everyone of his moves seemed to anger the dour professor further. From the fact that he used muggle notebooks to the way he carefully chopped his ingredients for the beginner potion, the Cure for Boils.

Perhaps this was the universe’s way of balancing out. Harry was ready to call it a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chat with me [tumblr.](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/)


	9. Part 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the late update guys! I've been busy with a new job and the EXTREMELY long commute. I might switch to posting once every two weeks but I haven't decided yet. Will let y'all know if I do. 999 Hits!!!! Yay!!!

Lunch arrived like a blessed end to a horrifying nightmare and he had barely kept himself from bolting the very second Professor Snape told them to bottle up their _‘hideously ineffective excuses for potions’_. His words not Harry’s.

“I think I may have found my least favorite class,” Harry murmured into his shirt sleeve as Munin sat atop his shoulder, stealing nibbles from his discarded sandwich and muttering about skinny chicks and bad eating habits.

“It wasn’t so…um…” Hermione trailed off as she was pinned with a weak glared from behind Harry’s folded arms.

“Okay, maybe Professor Snape leaves something to be desired.” She finally relented as she ate another forkful of her vegetables and continued cleaning up her notes into something more understandable. The entirety of parchment had become practically useless as one of the Ravenclaw-Slytherin pairs made their cauldron explode in a rather spectacular fashion. The colors had been quite stunning, their slightly blacked faces – not so much.

“That is the understatement of the century.” Harry finalized his mulling about and sat up to take a proper bite from the sandwich not being nibbled on by Munin.

_‘Good chick… Eat more…Need energy for human places.’_

Munin muttered as she preened a singularly unruly tuft of hair back into place. As much as Harry’s gravity defying hair would let her at the very least. Hermione stifled a small giggle as she watched the raven struggle.

“Hello Hermione, Harry.” A chipper voice broke the silence as Neville joined the two. Opting to sit with his friends instead of housemates. Somehow, Harry doubted the good-natured students in black and yellow would particularly object.

“Hey, mate.” Harry was seriously getting tired of the odd tasting juice the school seemed to want to force feed their students.

“Hello, Neville, how have your classes been?” Hermione asked as she, too, winced at the overly sweet and sticky concoction swirling in her cup. Her eyes darted around looking for a pitcher of water once more to no avail.

Before the boy could answer, screeches of owls filled the air along with a flutter of wings. Owls of all breed and creed descended from the rafters laden with packages and letter for their students. Harry smiled in awe at the sight. He doubted the Dursleys would be particularly interested in sending him mail, especially through such a ‘freakish’ method.

No.

Not freakish, he reminded himself once more as he watched his fellow school and classmates be at complete ease at the process.

Magical.

Magical method.

But Harry could still enjoy the visual of owls flying here and there. The smiles of different students as they took the offered packages. Mixed in were the voices of praise and joy of the owls themselves. Harry was surprised at how many of the birds considered their charges as their own chicks. Munin was not the oddity after all – owl or not.

A tawny and regal owl landed in front of his new friend, offering a leg to Neville. If an owl could look unimpressed with the world, Harry was sure this would the look they would have. Neville was quick to remove the package but was only awarded with a sharp bite at his hand for his efforts and… a sniff. Harry was certain he had heard the bird _sniff_.

_‘Ruddy bird… Rude pigeon…’_

Munin croaked as she flapped her wings in agitation at the retreating owl’s behavior before switching students and deciding to preen a startled Neville’s hair.

“He’s very nice for a crow, Harry.” Neville said as he rubbed at his bitten hand.

Munin croaked in annoyance.

“Raven, Neville and she.” Harry laughed lightly at said raven’s miffed look. He was a bit surprised that she was spilling her motherly instincts over his friends but then again, he never had friends that were his age, so he supposed that was it.

“Oh,” Neville mumbled as he opened his package, “Grandmother sent me a Remembrall.”

“I’ve read about those,” Hermione piped up as she examined the object, “they’re supposed to change color when they make contact with someone who’s forgotten something.”

 “But I can never remember what I’ve forgotten,” Neville muttered as he glared at the round shape as a red haze started to grow in the center of the clear globe.

Before Harry could add his own opinion to the mix, a particularly loud screech caught his attention along with a flash of pure white wings. He looked up to find a snowy owl heading towards… towards him.

Harry blinked at the black eyes of one of the most beautiful owls he had ever seen staring back at him. She was enthralling, enchanting, entrancing and many more words along the same vein. The eyes looked back at him, blinking at odd intervals. He could feel the smile behind those as she held up her leg once more. Harry quickly undid the twine holding the parchment envelope and undid the was seal holding it closed.

Dear Mr. Potter,

 

Ravens are very smart but often misunderstood by the common wizard. I hope she will be able to help you navigate the wizarding world with more ease.

 

Best regards,

 

A friend.

 

Harry looked up at the head table where the professors sat and caught the eyes of a smiling Professor Flitwick and returned the nod with a watery smile of his own and returned his attention to the snowy owl, watching as Munin turned her attention of preening to the newest member of the group.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione breathed as she watched his expression with a blinding smile. “What are you going to call her?”

 

* * *

Harry was still dazed as he stood beside a well-weathered broom in the Quidditch pitch. Their class had been moved from the usual courtyard to the game area due to some unforeseen circumstances caused by the NEWTs Herbology class. Whatever that meant, Harry did not know. A small gathering of students from all houses stood besides their respective brooms. Much smaller group than what he had seen during the Opening Feast, so he assumed it wasn’t all of them.

The pitch was covered with a soft, malleable sand that shifted slightly underweight. Harry wondered if it would break a nasty fall.

“Good afternoon, class.” A grey-hair witch strode through the center of their lined group. “There will be no shenanigans in this class. You are here to learn the skill of flying brooms. That is all. You will maintain your focus because that will be the only way for you to be safe.”

Yellow eyes focused each student with a glare, though after the full force of Professor Snape’s glare Harry felt very little of it.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Quickly now, step up to your brooms. Hold out your hands and firmly say, ‘Up’.” The professor said with her hands braced on her hips.

Harry didn’t know how well a broom would listen to commands, but he followed instructions, nonetheless. With a single word, the handle of the broom smacked into his hand with surprising force. The smooth wood under his hand hummed with a mirthful energy. An excitement that traveled into Harry and made him smile brightly down at the broom before looking up to find Hermione glaring mildly at him. Her own broom was rolling over and over on the ground while she shouted at it. He could see Neville struggling to get his broom to obey his commands as well. Neville’s, however, did listen to him a few moments later. With a swift smack in the face.

“If you haven’t gotten your broom up, pick them up now.” The yellow eyes seem to bore into every soul under her watch as she studied the students that had to pick up their brooms. “Now, you will mount your brooms and kick off the ground. Hover for a moment and then touch back down.”

The humming within his broom was slowly becoming a full song. Harry could feel exhilaration and excitement thrum through him. Air moved around him as he felt something building up to a crescendo. He closed his eyes against the energy moving through him.

A shout brought him out of his haze.

“Mr. Longbottom,” Professor Hooch yelled as the Hufflepuff floated further and further away, his broom quickly getting out of hand.

Within one blink of an eye and the next, Harry was flying alongside his disoriented friend.

“Neville, you need to stop!” Harry yelled above the winds and the magic flowing through them.

“I can’t!” Neville screamed before veering off to a sharp left. Harry followed suit and tried to keep pace. “It won’t listen to me!”

Harry strained to listen to the energy flowing through the object. It sounded strained and strange to his ears. Almost twisted in a way.

Harry reached out on trembling hands and took a hold of the wayward broom. The action slammed both against one another and sent them tumbling downwards. Maintaining a death grip on his own handle while steering another was a trial in sheer strength but his efforts paid off when they landed on a rather comfortable patch of sand with a loud thump and a small dust cloud.

The whispering energy quitted below his palm. The twisted magic dissipating as Harry got to his feet. Cheering filled the air followed quickly by coughing as the students rushed to them. Harry, however, remained looking at the second broom in his hand. Confused at the strange turn of events.

“Mr. Potter and Mr. Longbottom,” the happy sounds died within moments. “Never in my years have I been witnessed to such reckless actions. Mr. Longbottom, it would behoove you to ensure that you maintain a proper grip on your broom and listen to your instructor. Five points from Hufflepuff. And Mr. Potter.” She rounded on Harry who shrunk back a little as he tried to make himself disappear within the crumbling sand.

“You disobeyed class rules and recklessly endangered yourself. You could have been hurt; you do realize that? You could have made Mr. Longbottom’s fate worse with your actions.” Professor Hooch’s eyes were a fluid gold with speckles of vermilion swimming. “And your actions ensured that your classmate remained safe from harm. Ten points to Ravenclaw.”

Harry stood there in stunned silence as Professor Hooch walked away.

“Class dismissed.”

The brooms that littered the ground around them perked up and followed the professor with a flick of her wand.

 

* * *

The trio of two Ravenclaws and one Hufflepuff took a winding path from the Quidditch pitch towards Hogwarts proper. They remained quiet as they made their way down, trying to figure out what to say with one another. Majority of the class had moved on before them, shouting excitedly and recounting the events of the class with one another. The three had stayed back.

Winding and weaving in odd directions, the path led them along the very edges of the grounds. Almost in brushing distance with the Forbidden Forest. A cold breeze blew through the leaves of the towering trees making the trio walking along the path shiver. Dusk had come to Hogwarts. Its rays illuminated the surface of the Black Lake playing with the waters.

Another breeze flew from the forest.

“Did you hear that?” Harry asked his companions as they came to a stop along bend that brought them closest to the edge of the forest.

“No, I didn’t hear anything.” Neville offered as the looked over Harry’s shoulder into the forest.

“Not really, just the wind,” Hermione said as she looked worriedly at Harry.

That was the problem.

There was nothing.

The woods were never this quiet. Beyond just the usual chatter of animals running here and there, there was always the ever-present voices of the trees on the wind, the murmuring of bushes underfoot, the whispers of grasses and weeds as the argued over who deserved their place, the laughter of flowers as the swayed with the breeze.

Harry heard nothing.

The plants around him had laughed, joked and _spoken_ to him as long as he could remember. The Forbidden Forest did not even whisper to him.

“Well now, what are you lot doing out here near the forest?” The loud voice jerked Harry out of his stupor and made Hermione and Neville nearly jump into the air. The trio turned to find Hagrid, the Keeper of Keys and Grounds, looking down at them from his impressive height.

“Nothing, Hagrid, Harry thought he heard something from the forest.” Neville said.

“Heard somethin’? Best to leave the forest be, nothing good comes from wanderin’ too close to it.” Hagrid muttered as he looked over their heads into the darkness of the forest. “Harry, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I don’ suppose you remember me when we last met, you were a wee one then.”

“Oh? Did you know my parents, Mr. Hagrid?” Harry’s attention now was fully on the giant man in front of their group, the mystery of the forest forgotten for any information about is family.

“Yes, yes. I knew James and Lily well. And it’s Hagrid, I’m no mister. You should come by for a cuppa when you got the time, if you wanna talk about them. Now, come along, it’s almost time for dinner and you’ll be late.”

Harry finally looked around to see the day had passed them by as he stood transfixed to the view of the forest. With a quick nod, the trio quickly made their way down the remainder of the path as they rushed to the Great Hall, leaving a chuckling Hagrid behind.


	10. Part 10

The great Hall was a light with sound and laughter. Students group together with their friends at different tables. The four houses intermingled with one another as the magic sky overhead turned from vibrant colors of sunset to a blanket of stars, highlighted by candles floating by. Harry watched aptly as Hermione became more and more engrossed by the giant book in front of her. he wondered for a moment if he should just let her go until her nose made contact with the yellowed pages before her. No, best to ask her what she was up to now before it was too late, and he lost her to the ether of knowledge.

“What are you reading, Hermione?”  He asked before taking a strategic bite of his sandwich.

“Oh, a book I found in a quaint little bookstore in Diagon Alley. They had all sorts of used books. It’s mostly about magical theory. It’s absolutely fascinating.” Hermione’s words came out as one long string of words as she shook the book that looked like it would fall apart any moment.

“Really?” Harry asked as he swallowed the last of his sandwich.

“Yes, I was just using it as a bit of light reading but there’s s a section about brooked that I’m quite interested in.”

“I would hate to see your definition of heavy reading,” Neville muttered from his seat besides her.

Before Hermione’s glare could do any real damage to the poor Hufflepuff, Harry interjected, “Do you think I could borrow if for a while to have a read through?”

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione said enthusiastically, “I’m done with the broom section anyway. Nothing in there says anything about how to control them unfortunately,” the last few words were quiet as she closed the book and focused on her dinner.

“Hey, Harry. Have your figured out what you’re going to call your new owl?” Neville asked as he helped hand over the large tome.

“Yeah, I think I have.” He said more to the owl and raven sat atop his bookbag arguing about the best kind of mice. Harry really didn’t need to know that door mice were squishier thus better than lean field mice.

“What’re you going to name her?” Hermione asked.

“Hedwig,” Harry offered simply as he stroked the snowy owl’s feathers, watching her preen under his touch. Munin huffed and went to task fixing his nest of a hairstyle as per usual.

“Why Hedwig?”

“She’s the patron saint of orphans,” Harry said quietly. The snowy owl in question stopped her preening and instead moved to sit on his unoccupied shoulder, nuzzling into his cheek. Harry didn’t miss the wavering smiles of his friends, but he wouldn’t be the one to comment on them.

Dinner concluded with a wave of the headmaster’s hand and the stumbling first years, tired from their classes and heavy with sleep were led by prefects to their dormitories. Harry felt very much like he was on autopilot through his nightly routine. The bed was soft and a pillow welcoming under his cheek as he fell asleep to Hedwig’s soft hoots and Munin ruffling about as she made herself comfortable against their newest friend.

 

* * *

For the second time in as many days, Harry wondered about the merits of coffee and whether a caffeine addiction would be beneficial for his mental health at this point. He morning had started normal enough, for someone attending a secret school far into the Scottish countryside that taught magic to the children of a secret society of wizards and witches living just under the noses of non-magical people. Hermione had talked at him at length about how excited she was for the next set of classes and how she had read all her books and how she had met Professor Sprout when she was visiting Diagon Alley with her parents. Harry, of course, nodded and hummed dutifully at proper intervals. That had led to here.

A dusty, suffocating room with odd and ends of semi-deconstructed objects strewn about equally dusty shelves. Ravenclaws and Slytherins sat on opposing sides of the cramped room. Stay pieces of lint and motes floated in the rays of sun filtering in from the small clerestory windows. The air felt thick and heavy as students shifted around in their seats.   

“Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts, class.” Professor Quirrell said as he walked to the front of the classroom. Harry could barely understand the words due to the heavy stutter that permeated the professor’s speech. He wondered if it would just be better for him to just bypass the class altogether and study everything himself. Then again, he couldn’t really work out the practical portion of the spells. Staying in the class would have to do.

“…basic protection spells.” Harry really needed to pay attention to the class as he barely caught the end of the man’s speech. “Not that some of you need that eh, Potter.”

Harry frowned as he stared down at his open book, ignoring the snickers and glares he received from the Slytherin end of the classroom.

The rest of Defense Against the Dark Arts, DADA as most of the upper-class students called it, was a complete disaster. Professor Quirrell could barely be understood through his stumbling and stuttering speech. The man kept jumping a foot in the air at the slightest movement. To top it all off, Harry had a strange, harsh headache through out the entire ordeal. A whispering, swirling haze surrounded the man. Harry couldn’t pinpoint the origin of it but it kept getting stronger and stronger as the hour slipped by.

Harry jumped up and was out the door the moment the bell rang. He had to wait by the door for Hermione, but he was free of the heavy air of the room and that was all that he needed. It took the bushy haired girl a few moments to get her stuff together and join him. She walked up to him and just as she opened her mouth to ask what his issue was, a nasally voice cut through.

“You think you’re so special, Potter?” The voice belonged to a platinum blonde from the robe shop, now clad in Slytherin green. He was flanked by four others. A dark-skinned boy, a short haired girl who looked both smug and completely disinterested in the conversation and two boys that could give Dudley a run for his money. Then again, so could the blonde with his attitude.

“Um…no?” Harry stated; a bit startled at the question. He wasn’t blind nor deaf. He had heard the whispered conversations as he walked around the hallways and the way everyone was eager to get a glimpse of the deep scar marring the right side of his forehead. Their snide remarks had been easily ignored so far but Harry, however, had yet to come across someone so blunt.

“Come on, Harry, we have to go find the Herbology greenhouse.” Hermione muttered as she tugged on Harry’s sleeve.

“Yeah, Potter, listen to your little mudblood.” The blonde’s sneer was an ugly thing, twisting his face to something unrecognizable.

Harry blinked as he stared at the boy being spurred on by his company's laughter. Hermione’s face looked ashen next to him. Before he could say anything that came to his mind, he felt the grip on his sleeve move to his wrist and he was being dragged behind his fellow Ravenclaw in a near sprint.

“Hermione, slow down!” Harry exclaimed as he avoided bulldozing over another student. “Hermione!”

Hermione on the other hand kept moving as if the hounds of hell were after her. Harry dug his heels into the ground as strongly and firmly as his wiry frame would allow. He had quite a lot of practice doing this against Dudley’s substantially bulkier frame. Hermione’s grip was no challenge at all. The move brought both to a halt near the large doors to Hogwarts grounds.

“Hermione?” Harry asked quietly as moments flew by with them just standing there. The trickle of students continued around like flowing water diverging against rocks in a lazy stream.

“Dirty,” Hermione finally said. “He called me dirty blood. I’ve heard some of them call Justin Finch-Flechty that.” He eyes looked foreign on her face. In the short period Harry had known her, she had always seemed to be happy, excited and full of life. He did not like this look.

“Come on, we’ll be late of Herbology.” Hermione whispered as she walked off without him in the direction of the glistening glass greenhouses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... This chapter had been written for a while and it just sat in my book. I didn't like it very much but I couldn't guess the reason why. BUT I managed to get myself to type it up and here it is. I may go back and edit somethings but I've been putting it off for WAY too long and you guys deserve a new chapter. 
> 
> Also, as I said earlier, I've started a new job and the commute is murderous! It leaves me with little free time at the end of the day that isn't occupied with me being absolutely tired out of my mind. So, I'm thinking of changing the update schedule to one every two weeks. 
> 
> Anyways, let me know what you think either in the comments or over at [ my tumblr.](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/) I love hearing from you guys!


	11. Part 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's baaaaaack?!  
> Sorry I was gone for so long my good peeps. Depression is kicking me booty.  
> I'm not particularly happy with this chapter so it'll probably be changed in the nest few days. But I hope you enjoy none the less!
> 
> -Let me know if there are any glaring issues.

Harry stood in the sweltering heat of greenhouse number three. He could see rivulets of sweat pouring down Neville’s face, but the boy seemed entranced by their surroundings to care. The greenhouse was bursting with flora. Twisting, reaching plants occupied every inch of available space not taken up by stools and tables. Even the isle between the desks was occupied by carts containing planters with even more plants. Harry could hear all the voices muttering, whispering, complaining as a slight, ever-present breeze flowed through the greenhouse. There was a flux weed that was whispering obscenities at its neighbor, a young and very cheery bouncing bulb that despite the restraints and a whisper of magic holding it down was wiggling around enough to shake the table it was on. A small flitterbloom was complaining about a bruised tentacle caused by a nearby Chinese chomping cabbage. Somewhere past the corner where Hermione sat, a nearby flowerpot full of blooming lavender that was conversing softly with a dandelion that had managed to sneak into the greenhouse somehow. The voices were a welcomed contrast to the foreboding quiet of the forest that lay only meters beyond the thick glass walls. Harry still hadn’t quite grown used to the idea of that.

“Good morning class!” Professor Pomona Sprout was a squat woman with a warm and welcoming smile. “Well, almost noon now. Shall we get started with out lesson then?” The professor said as she brought a tray filled with pots containing various plants to her desk.

The remainder of the lecture consisted of familiarizing themselves to an array of plants complaining about being handled. Harry tried not to laugh as the lovage he had correctly identified called the Head of Hufflepuff a flea bitted badger tromping around in a rose garden. He didn’t succeed.

 

* * *

Hermione remained in a daze as she wandered off after the bell rang, signaling the end of the end of Herbology. Neville had been carted off to the infirmary by his Head of House after a chomping cabbage had nearly taken one of his fingers off. Sans his quickly-becoming-usual companions, Harry decided to wander the grounds in search of a good reading or studying spot. He had yet to look through the book Hermione had let him borrow. He had tried the library but the whispers coming from the very back, where the restricted section was, were very disturbing. Common room was filled with chattering upperclassmen that crowded around their stacks of books. So here he was, walking along one of the lush green hills that Hogwarts seemed to have an unending supply of. His meandering steps brought him to a curiously strange sight.

A massive Willow tree was waving its branches about as it tried, in vain, to sway at a particularly stubborn woodpecker. Just as the bird found a perch, the branch darted upwards, sending the bird soaring through the sky at an alarming speed. A riotous string of curses following in its wake. The tree followed with its own imaginative and descriptive set of offensive language. Enough that Harry was certainly send Mrs. Belfried of #15’s wig into the stratosphere. Aunt Petunia had always speculated that it was a wig, but Harry knew for certain. Her cat had told him so.

The willow tree finally took notice of the Ravenclaw and asked if he wanted the same treatment as the woodpecker.

“No, no, I’m just here to visit,” Harry reassured the gruff tree.

The wildly waving branches perked up at the reply. It inquired about Harry, who he was and how could he understand the willow.

“I’m Harry and I thought all wizards could,” Harry said with a confused expression.

That was how Munin and Hedwig found the raven-haired boy: sitting in front of the _whomping_ willow, as it insisted on being called, while the two spoke of Hogwarts and all the willow had seen. Its branches swaying in the opposite direction of the wind, Harry thought the tree was rather contradictory.

Hermione joined the group after some time. “Harry? What are you doing?” She asked as she came to take a seat next to her fellow Ravenclaw.

“Oh, the whomping willow was telling me about the time a pair of redhead twins gave it a giant ball to play with. It liked the ball.”

“Telling? Harry are you talking to the willow tree?”

“The _whomping_ willow, Hermione,” Harry quickly amended as the branches perked up in agitation, “and yes, I thought all wizards could.” Harry was getting annoyed of have say that line over and over.

“No, not that I know. I’ve never anything that wasn’t human.” Hermione stood up abruptly and grabbed a hold of his hand. “Come on, have to go speak with Professor Flitwick!”

“Alright, alright,” Harry got to his feet and was soon being dragged off, yet again, by Hermione. Unlike last time, she was chattering on asking him a slew of questions. Many he had no answer to.

Harry felt horribly dizzy as he was dragged through twists and turns by Hermione to the door of professor Flitwick. The professor looked at them over a large tome occupying most of his desk. Harry imagined he was sitting atop a pile of books to reach his desk. He wasn’t going to be the one to ask though.

“Ms. Granger and Mr. Potter, what can I do for you?” The professor asked as he clothed the tome with a flick of his wand. Another and it had shrunk to the size of any normal book, minus the highly intricate detailing running down the covers and spine, and floated off to the shelf to take place between a book on arithmetic theory and a book whose title was in a language Harry failed to recognize.

“Professor,” Hermione gulped in lungful of air as she tried in vain to catch her breath, “I was talking to… and said he could… I wanted to ask you…”

“What she’s trying to say is,” Harry interjected, “that I can speak to trees and animals and…” he looked towards his friend for guidance.

“Harry thought that magical people could do it,” Hermione finished for him, “and we wanted to ask if you knew anything about it.”

“I beg your pardon?” Professor Flitwick blinked at the slew words that escaped Hermione.

“Harry can talk to plants, trees and animals, professor. He didn’t say anything because he assumed that all magical people could do it. We wanted to know if you could tell us anything about it.” Hermione said in a more sober and sedate pace. She was still grinning like mad.

“Indeed? Is that correct, Mr. Potter?”

Harry simply nodded in reply as he was equally confused.

“How interesting. I’m assuming you were able to seek out your wand because if this very reason?”

“Yes professor, the wands have a voice, not exactly like tree or animals but similar.”

“Perhaps I have a book here, somewhere that could shed some light on the matter.”’ The diminutive man hopped from his chair and walked to a bookshelf that brushed against the ceiling.

Harry could see that the professor had been sitting on a stack of books, with the addition of a cushion. He declined to comment. Professor Flitwick pulled out a particularly dusty book from one of the shelved and brought it over to his students.

_Green Magic for the Inquiring Mind_ stared up from the aged tome. The book hummed with a quiet energy under Harry’s hand as the young wizard ran his fingers over the embossed lettering, quite unlike the ones housed in the school library.

“This book should guide through the basics of what might be your ability, Mr. Potter. But like every good Ravenclaw, I suggest you take it as a starting point, and do you own research. Do come back if you have any other questions.” Professor Flitwick ushered the two students out of his office and headed back to his desk. He had an old friend to pen a letter to.

Harry stood a bit stunned and looked over to Hermione who was back to bouncing excitedly on her heels.

“So, when are going to start reading it?”


	12. Part 12

Harry and Hermione barely made it into the tiny, second floor classroom after the second bell rang. Dust. The entirety of the room and some of the students were covered in a thick layer of dust. From the ink wells on the desks to the desks themselves. It seemed that dust rushed in onto every surface that was wiped clean by any movement. Harry thanked all the deities he could think of that living a good part of his life in a cupboard had rendered him immune to dust. Unlike a Hufflepuff in the far corner of the room who had yet to stop sneezing. He was in for a long class, that was for sure.

A chill pulled Harry’s attention away from his fellow student and to the center of the classroom. There, pooled into a loose mound of swirling energy was yet another of the many cold spots that Harry had seen around the castle. Harry had deduced that they were ghosts from the way other Ravenclaw’s interacted with them. The secondary hypothesis was that such interactions were the result of mass psychosis. Funny as that may be, it seemed unlikely. He, it seemed, was not privy to their physical form or was it that he could see what lay underneath. Whatever the case, the result was that he could not see nor hear the ghostly professor, rendering the class a waste of time. Unless one considered huffing dust motes floating in the few afternoon sunrays that filtered through the grimy windows a useful endeavor. If so, they could contact Justin Finch-Fletchey and convince him to change his relationship with dust. He was on sneeze number 28.

Time crept by achingly slowly as Harry bore holes into the spot where the professor, presumably, stood and willed himself to see the ghostly figure. He could barely hear a murmuring voice by time the bell rang, releasing them from their dusty prison. An outline of a wispy form also started to materialize in his periphery as he stuffed his materials into his bag. It was not a pleasant sight. Harry was the first out of his seat and through the doors of the classroom. He was almost to the end of the hall when his friends finally caught up to him.

“Harry!” Hermione exclaimed as she dragged Neville behind her as he struggled to stuff his schoolbooks into his open bag.

The two caught up with him at the end of the hallway, a trail of dust motes swirled in the air behind them like a scene from an old cartoon.

“I need a shower and a change of clothes,” Hermione muttered as she saw a bit of dust hanging from and strand of her hair, “And maybe find some place to look through that book, Harry.”

“Uhh… yea, that’ll work. I need to ask the two of you something too.” Harry nodded as he stared at the door they had just exited from.

“Book?” Neville looked between the two of them, “what book?”

“We’ll fill you in. Meet you at the Great Hall, Neville,” she said as both she and Harry walked off to the Ravenclaw tower leaving their Hufflepuff friend behind.

* * *

The Great Hall was overflowing with students as per usual. First years excitedly discussing all of their classes while their older counterparts watched with bemused interest, sixth and seventh year students that seemed to be drowning in a sea of parchment and books even at the start of the school year while a few simply slacked off as they demonstrated their skill in spell work to their awed friends. In short, it was no place to discuss, potentially hidden, powers and their many uses to their owners.

“Well then, looks like the Great Hall is a no go,” Hermione quipped as she stared at the gathered mass of the student body.

A huffing and puffing Neville found them a few moments later, burdened with what seemed like all the books in his requirement list and school supplies to tie even Hermione over for the remaining school year. Or maybe a month or two. Most inexplicable of all his belongings was a picnic basket donning the yellow and black of Hufflepuff and the blue and black of Ravenclaw.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said as he struggled to catch his breath, “blimey that’s a lot of people.”

“Yes, looks like we’ll have to find somewhere else to um… do our homework,” Hermione said as a pair of fourth years walked by snickering at the Hufflepuff slowly collapsing under the weight of his load.

Harry took a few of the books Neville was carrying and added them to his charmed backpack then turned to Hermione, “Do you think the library would a be a good idea?” He may hate the aura the aged books gave off and the muttering voices would be distracting but he also had to account for his friends’ opinions as well.

“No, that’s a horrible idea,” Hermione said as she too took a few rolls of parchment and some books to lighted Neville’s load further. She placed the items in her own shoulder bag that had the same enchantments that all Ravenclaw’s used.

Neville, who had slowly started to lose his embarrassed flush, blinked in slow disbelief, “Wow, you’re the first Ravenclaw to besmirch the name of the library, Hermione.”

“It’s cramped, there are books strewn everywhere and the restocking charms never seem to work fast enough but no-one actually attempts to make them go faster, there are students all over the place yet there are no designated study rooms and the librarian shushes you before you can even think about uttering a single syllable. There is useful information there, yes, but it’s best to simply check the books out and go elsewhere to study them.”

Harry and Neville were left blinking owlishly at the conclusion of the tirade.

“What?” Hermione said as her cheeks slowly colored, but she refused to lose face.

Neville clapped slowly like he had just seen a stunning play, “Wow, I didn’t know someone could have so many feelings about a library, bravo Hermione.”

“Oh, shut up,” she smacked his shoulder.

“Well, since you feel so passionately about option A, are there any option Bs?” Harry asked laughing at his friends.

“We could try looking for an unused classroom. I heard some of the older students mention that they used them to study sometimes,” Neville pipped up as he rubbed his now sore shoulder.

“Then we should start looking.”

* * *

They had been looking for what seemed like a small eternity to Harry. Every, supposedly, ‘unoccupied’ classroom was very much to occupied either by a single student or groups of several. One particularly dust covered door had creaked open to reveal a pair of redhead twins hunched over a large cauldron that seemed to glow and ominous green and was overflowing with something or other. That door was swiftly closed and the three barely made it out of the corridor before the occupants came rushing out after them.  

Their wandering steps had led them to a hall that Harry didn’t remember seeing before. The paintings that lined the walls were somberly clear of any occupants. Indeed, they seemed very much like paintings of vague, however beautiful, landscapes. Rolling hills, towering mountains, and vast open planes were devoid of the usual cheery people that seemed to inhabit all the magical paintings of the castle at large. While the trees and grasses swayed in an unseen and unfelt breeze, they remained stoically silent.

“Well, hello there,” the voice cut through their searching, sounding loud as a foghorn in the eerie quiet, “what brings you to this lonely corner of the castle?” The figure speaking to them was a tall, regally dressed man holding a large staff in his hand. A soft glow filled the entirety of the frame, originating within the large crystal atop the staff. The man was dressed in heavy black and silver robes and had the kindest green eyes Harry had ever seen. A long serpent was lazily coiling around the man’s feet barely paying their visitors any mind.

“We’re a… we’re looking for a place to study, sir.” Harry said quietly as he looked up at the large portrait before him. “We were hoping to find a classroom for our use.”

“Ahh… youths on the ever-important trail of knowledge.” A wistful sigh leaves the man as he smiles softly. “Fear not, young ones, there is a rarely used study at the end of this hallway. My once-upon-a-time study is at the end of the hallway. You may use it if you wish.”

“Are there any books in there?” Hermione said excitedly, her bouncing energy in full swing at the thought of an ancient study.

“Yes, quite a few in fact. Most might be in Old-English but if you are a true Ravenclaw on pursuit of knowledge once thought lost you will find a way to study them nonetheless.” The unknown figure’s eyes seemed to shine in the radiant light of the crystal.

The ‘Thank you!’ Hermione screamed as she tore down the hallway with a, surprisingly, excited Neville, mumbling about ancient plants, was barely audible and yet as loud as a gong within the still din of the hallway. Harry could have sworn he saw some of the landscapes blow in a sudden gust of wind.

“Go, join your friends young one. I believe we will be speaking to one another soon.”

Harry turned to the portrait, “Sir?” He asked in confusion but the face smiling down at him remained cryptically silent.

* * *

Spacious and open, the interior of the study was devoid of any signs of age other then the obscurity of the language displayed upon the spines of the many volumes housed in innumerable shelves. Hermione was already buried under a growing mountain of books and Neville, too, had pulled out a tome to peruse through.

Harry took a seat on one of the plush chairs that seemed morph to him and picked out the book that had been tempting him all day. Harry ran his hand along the spine before he cracked the humming covers open and began to read.

_The journey you are about to take will be filled with many harsh truths and many more obstacles, young mage. You will be ostracized for your knowledge; you will be feared for your power and you will be detested for the path you choose to walk upon. There are many who will question your actions and many more who will not understand them. Are you certain you want to continue, Harry Potter?_

Harry looked up from the book to peek at his two friends. Had they some how slipped the passage in without him noticing? Was it an elaborate prank coordinated with the addition of Professor Flitwick?

Hermione returned his searching gaze with a smile. “Oh, are you reading that book, Harry?” She asked excitedly and moved closer to Harry to peer over his shoulder to the tome in hands.

“Yeah, the opening passage was a little weird though,” Harry said as he looked back down at the book in hands.

“Really?” Hermione focused on the book and frowned, “Can you read any of that?”

“What do you mean?” Harry looked at her in question.

“I mean that the words don’t make any sense. It looks weird.” Hermione murmured in confusion. Her words brought an inquisitive Neville, who had been listening in on the conversation, to Harry’s other side.

“Some of makes sense. A little. Not really though.”

“Well, I guess only people that are good at green magicks can read it.” Hermione looked put off at the thought.

“Or maybe it has a spell binding it to a specific person. A lot of old, pureblood tomes tend to have those.”

“We’ll just have to read it out loud then,” Harry declared.

Hermione laughed at the loud outburst, making him blush a furious red, “You should read it first, Harry, so you can go at your own pace and they Neville and I can go over it again with you. If that’s okay.”

Harry nodded in agreement before his two friends went back to their own teetering piles of books.

The book was dry. Almost dry enough that even Harry’s excitement couldn’t get him through the first chapter about the obscure author’s lineage and how they came to study the niche art of Green Magick. Almost. As it was, Harry was glued to the intertwining descriptions of the many places the author had travelled and the unknown pockets of magical communities they encountered who had lived in isolation from the greater Magical World. They spoke of an old crone living in the plains of Mongolian who spoke to the wind and clamed raging storms. Or the man living in a ting hut in and equally tiny village in the heart of Siberian whose village was an oasis of green amongst the tundra because he spoke to the plants and woe runes of warmth in the protection wards. What brought Harry to a pause was a passage about a young child who had been sent home from a magical academy in the Americas because she had banished an ancient spirit off school grounds. While the author focused on her ability to grow rare and unknown herbs by speaking what she referred to as their _true_ names, Harry was intrigued by her explanation that the spirit had looked like a mass of cold energy.

“Hermione,” Harry said and watched as the bushy hair poked out from the side of a bookshelf, “are… are there any ghosts or spirits at Hogwarts?”

She merely blinked in confusion and Neville answered in her stead, “Of course, Harry, there’s lots of ghosts around here. Every House had their own. I think the only spirit is a poltergeist, named Peeves.”

“Our History of Magic professor is also a ghost,” Hermione chimed in, “haven’t you seen any of them?”

“Not really. I know there’s something there because they sort of look like pools of gooey energy, but I can’t really see them.” Harry looked down at the book in his hand. “They don’t look like people. There’s a mention of someone who also couldn’t see them.”

“You’re lucky mate. While I like the Friar enough, the Hufflepuff House ghost, I rather not see the Bloody Baron. Or nearly-headless Nick.” Neville shuddered slightly.

“Nearly-headless? How can someone be nearly-headless?”

It was Hermione’s turn to shudder, “Best not to ask.”

* * *

Any further reading of the book or discussion was swiftly thwarted, however, by the ever-present classes. This was a school after all. No matter how much Harry would rather be anywhere else, preferably snuggled up in his dorm with his avian and human friends and reading the highly anticipated volume, here he was, smushed into a tiny turret room atop one of Hogwarts’ many towers, surrounded by half of the first-year class and slowly falling asleep. Had the Wizarding World never heard of slides or thought about using a diagram instead of a live class where they stared through low powered telescopes at the night sky? Harry would’ve rather taken the terrible drawings of stellar constellations a la Victorian Era that the entirety of the Wizarding World seemed to be stuck in.

Even Professor Sinistra’s upbeat presentation on how the constellations and planetary positions could play a part in anything from potion strength to spell power and even runic calculations could not get Harry to pay any sort of attention. Was the fact that moon lilies should be harvested during a new moon for their full strength, despite what the name implied interesting? Yes. Was the dependence of a counterclockwise runic configuration’s power depending on the turning phases of Neptune potentially useful information? Undoubtedly. Did Harry care? No.

At least there was an infinite amount of free hot chocolate set out to fortify them against the drafty interior of the tower classroom. Along with the many snack foods that Neville had packed for them in leu of the missed dinner. The combined body heat of the assembled student body was nothing against the howling winds of early autumn. Harry could have sworn he felt the tower lean in the wind, ever so slightly.

It was at well past midnight when the mass of students was finally freed of their academic prison. Before Harry and hid bush haired companion could join the mass exodus, their remaining friend’s voice caught their attention.

“I think I’m missing something,” Neville said meekly.

And indeed, there was something missing. Somehow, between the start and end of the torture session disguised as a class, Neville had misplaced his tie, his wand and, of all things, a shoe. Harry wondered if there was a spell to tie one’s property to them and make snap back like of those keycards.

Something to consider for another time.

“Neville,” Hermione sighed as she walked around their table searching everywhere for the missing items. Harry joined in the possibly fruitless search.

The wand was in Neville’s backpack, big surprise there, the tie was hidden in the back of the classroom, possibly hidden by one the Slytherin that were sharing the missed class with them. The shoe, inexplicably, was handing by a lace on one of the many spinning planetary dioramas.

By the time all the articles of clothing were accounted for, even Professor Sinistra had cleared out of the classroom leaving the trio all on their own.

“We’re out after curfew, come on we need to get Neville back to his dorm so we can go back to ours.” Hermione tugged on Harry’s sleeve and walked off leaving the boys to catch up.

Fifteen minutes later, they were no closer to the Hufflepuff dorms than when they had started. Harry had the sinking suspicious that they were lost.

“Guys…,” Neville said quietly as they walked past yet another empty void of a painting, its occupant no where to be seen. “I don’t recognize this hallway.”

Empty, dust filled braziers lining the walls burst into roaring flames as the trio scuttled past.

“Where’s your map, Harry?” Hermione’s voice was barely above a whisper in the oppressive quiet of their surroundings.

“I don’t have it; we came as a group, so I didn’t think to grab it. Don’t you have yours?” A glare was his only answer.

A low meow greeted them as they rounded yet another corner in an endless supply that the twisting and turning hallway contained.

“Oh no. Mrs. Norris,” Neville whispered with a whine of fear in his voice, “we have to go, now!”

The trio broke into a run after hearing the dreaded voice of Mr. Flitch coming around yet another corner further down the hall. Hermione led them to the first door she saw and with a quick motion and a whispered word, the troop disappeared into the inky blackness there in.

First hint that something was wrong was three excited voice crying out.

“Food?”

“Squirrel?”

“Hagrid?!”

The second was the glob of drool slowly accumulating, on Neville’s head, visible under the tip of Harry’s wand. With growing dread, Harry slowly turned his wand upwards following the line of drool to its source. Immediately he understood when was so compelling about the phrase, _Ignorance is bliss_.

Three sets of bone white teeth gleamed in the cold blue light of the spell, sat in equally huge heads that were connected to a single enormous body. The Cerberus lowered its heads to growl at the intruders. Harry barely had a chance to register the scream leaving his lungs when Hermione pulled him and a screaming Neville out the door and down the corridor.

Their hurried footsteps carried them headfirst into the back of one Mr. Flitch.

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” The prickly old man grabbed a shaking Neville by the collar. “Students wandering the halls after dark, eh?” The grin that split his face was practically vicious. The hairball at his feet hissed obscenities.

“Argus,” the voice of one Pomona Sprout broke through the glowering demeanor of the caretaker as she came bustling down the long corridor. “What on Earth is going on here?”

“Students, professor, caught them snooping around. Could be looking for… you know… what.” Mr. Flitch muttered as he finally let go of Neville’s collar.

“Oh, for goodness sake, Argus,” the portly professor glared at him before she pulled Neville out of his reach and turned to the remaining Ravenclaws. “What are you three doing out after curfew, dearies?”

“We got lost, professor,” Hermione spoke up, “after Astronomy. We were looking for the Hufflepuff dorm so Neville wouldn’t have to go alone. That’s when we ran into… um… Mr. Flitch.”

“Well that is very kind of you dearies, five points to Ravenclaw each for looking out for a fellow student’s safety. Come, come, I will show you back to your dorms.” The smiling professor ushered them away from the surly caretaker’s presence and towards a doorway Harry swore was not there before.

It led to the staircase they had lost somewhere a while ago.

Before long the Ravenclaws found themselves a riddle for the large eagle guarding their dorm and waving farewell to their friend.

By the time Harry completed his nightly routine and crawled, as quietly as he could, under his dark blue covers. The sky was starting to show early signs of dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I'm really sorry for such a long wait. My PC went kaput and I pretty much lost all my data. I've been looking for someway to look for replacement parts. The chapter may have more than a few issues because it was written by hand and then typed up on mobile. 
> 
> If you guys want to help me out in return for commissions or what not you can find my Ko-fi [ here on my tumblr.](http://lazzie-writes.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Or you could just let know what you guys think. I love hearing from you guys!


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